Boner? I hardly know her.

The universe has somehow decided to take mercy on my somewhat brow-beaten soul. It has finally thrown me a friggin’ bone.

My friend A. sings at Bayreuth and she is so very happy with her agent. This agent has done wonders for A. She is singing at the Vienna Staatsoper and has been invited for an audition at La Scala (in Milan). Being a good friend, she recommended that I send my stuff into “the agent”, as she thinks that he could help me, and that he would be interested in my voice. So, I sent him my CD, my resumé…you know, the works.

I was so very a-feared to call the agent to ask him if he had listened to my CD. What you maybe don’t know is that it is often hard even to get an audition for an agent--the middle-man between an opera singer and the opera houses. I think that the tension would have been palpable to an on-looker as I reached for the phone, muttering a kind of in-tongues pep talk to myself as I dialed.

You see, I have this sort of dream list of agents that I would really like to work with. The list is categorized hierarchically, in typical anal-retention à la J. This particular agent, A.’s agent, is on the top, the far top, as in hey, I would do just about anything to work with this person. He is very far above the others on my list, the equivalent of a great swami on top of a hill somewhere, kind of, well, unreachable. Seeing him like that, really kind of sitting on a cloud somewhere in the sky definitely opens up a whole lot of idiomatic worms based on the word “cloud”, but I will spare you this. Let’s say that his standing in my mind is like when Mel Gibson was in that Saturday Night Live skit called “Mel Gibson: Dream Gynecologist.”—so hot that your annual pap smear seems almost something to look forward to. “The agent” would play Mel Gibson in this somewhat off-kilter parallel galaxy. Getting in with him somehow translates into having a future, at least in my little universe. How I could possibly relate this to a pap smear, the thought of which, for a gay man, would be somewhat akin to just about any scene from “The Aristocrats.”

This overly dramatic profundity about a simple phone call is probably the reason that my hand began to shake whilst dialing.

I should have trusted A., who assured me that “the agent” is not, as I have painted him, a He-man to beat down all of my opera-biz Skeletors. ‘He is a sweet guy,’ she says…’honest, but sweet’ is I think how she put it. It rings on the other end and I immediately know she was right. He is totally nice.

He jumps right in, remembering my name from my info or his conversations with A. “I have listened to most of your CD,” he said. I believe this is where I gulped audibly. “I think that you have a very fine voice.” I begin to breathe again, yet not too deeply, as I wait for the “but.”

His only bone of contention (sticking with that tired metaphor) is that there is not enough legato in my voice right now. (For those of you out of the music scene, this means that my singing is a bit too choppy for his taste.) This is a comment I have received before. I’m thinking ‘ok, I can deal with that. That is fixable.’ I used to sing legato. I was always the one who got “most musical” as the runner up to the beauty queen coloratura trilling her little princess voice right up the judges’ asses. I regress. Again. Hey, there’s always time for bitter.

Overwhelmingly, the agent was positive with me. He swore that he will be in contact with me before the year is out so that I can come and sing for him live. A. said that he is swamped right now and warned not to expect too much right at this moment as his secretary just quit and he has a newborn at home. When he said that he wanted to audition me, for sure, I believe that some part of my subconscious was screaming ‘Goooooooaaaaaaaallllllll.’ The little Chilean sports announcer inside was waiting for this moment and just screamed, complete with Chavezian fanaticism and accent.

The agent said so much. I hung on every syllable of his every word, devouring it like the words of a letter to a ‘dead man walking’ as he discerns, desperate, whether he holds a reprieve in his hands or a farewell.

“The agent’s” other memorable comments include:

“A Heldentenor is not just something you can find on the street.”
“We just need to find you the right house.”
“You obviously have very good technique.”
“I get a lot of resumés everyday. I would say about 90% of them… no, really almost 100% have nothing to offer.”
“I am glad you quit the chorus. You do not have a chorus voice. Your singing in the chorus is probably what took the legato out of your voice.”

I am thinking about getting out the button maker that Chris bought for his niece (and shamelessly kept for himself), and printing a few of these cool catchphrases for buttons-as-accessories. I’ll wear them as badges of honor as I walk the streets, hoping quietly to meet up with old colleagues from the theatre. I could even make the first one out of gold and wear it, blatantly, at my next auditions. How quickly my little Chilean turns into Little Miss Tragic, about to have her gay card taken away by the gay fashion police. Damn.

A. said that “the agent” would be good for me because he has a very good ear (getting his doctorate in Musicology) and has a very good instinct about people. It sort of started feeling a little like the old Hollywood star system when he then gave me the name of someone that he wants me to start working with. “Mr. Demille liked your screen-test, Ms. F. But he wants you to start working with a diction coach right away for your next feature…” Oh Jesus, Little Miss Tragic has become my inner-Vivien Liegh. I guess that’s tragic too.

Anyway, this voice teacher has produced some very notable Heldentenors. Cool. A teacher with Heldentenor as specialty. I had no idea such a thing existed. He rattled off her name and said that he would email me her info. And then, he re-iterated what he had said to me before, that I do not need to be worried, that he promises to be in touch with me.

I hung up and lost all control. I literally wept the craziest tears of joy! I think I may have been shuddering as I blubbered.

I NEEDED THIS GOOD NEWS SOOOOOOO BAD!!!!!

You have no idea. I feel like I have worked my fingers to the bone and gotten nothing in return. Truth be told, the J. has been not feeling so good about himself lately. I just started thanking God immediately. It all just seemed so right. Just real somehow, you know?

A testament to the “real” nature of the agent came when I got a call 20 minutes later. “I just talked to Frau K.,” he said. “ You can go ahead and call her; she is expecting you. This is her number…” Ok. So, this guy means business. He hears my recording, identifies what I am missing, recommends someone to fix it and even does an intro for me. Very cool. Very, very cool.

(I called the teacher and we will meet in December.)

Does this means that things are starting to “happen”?

A deep sense of relief came over me today, a feeling that seems so foreign I feel as though I don’t even possess the words to describe it. There is a part of me, a very deep part, that says “this is YOUR agent! All others will be mere imitations.” Yes, I will still audition with other people, I will still send out my resumés and will still be working to branch out and sing for as many people as I can. But a deep part of me will rest easier now, somehow knowing that what was meant to be has begun.