Singer - 16. Quarterfinals

The shoes were his—canvas sneakers a friend back home had outlined the Manhattan skyline on. The jeans were also his, and the New York Yankees baseball jersey would be after the show. So would a couple of the bracelets on his wrist.

The wardrobe coordinators worked with each artist prior to every performance. They provided as much or as little of the outfits as needed. In Chipper’s case, it was close to an even split so far. After each show, the contestants could keep or buy anything not theirs. If purchased, it was at a deep discount.

“Are you wearing the hat?” The hairstylist raised an eyebrow at him in the mirror.

“You know what?” Chipper grinned at the woman. “I’m gonna save it for tomorrow night. How about we put the hair up in a bun?”

Waiting while others performed, Chipper reflected on the past week. Miles Abramonov took him to dinner on Friday night, and the attorney’s wife had been charming. At night’s end, the woman invited him to their home for Sunday brunch. Splashing in the pool with their kids that afternoon helped dispel most of his remaining jitters.

On Monday, he varied his routine; time at the gym to burn-off excess energy followed an early rehearsal. He was ready to sing when called to the stage.

Waiting behind the moveable screens, Chipper heard Carson Daly’s voice boom through the sound system. “Singing our own Alicia Keys’ ‘Empire State of Mind’, here’s her fellow New Yorker. Chipper!”

As the video-monitor partitions split to reveal him at a baby grand piano, images of New York and New Yorkers flashed on them. Chipper had insisted a picture of two men kissing in front of the Stonewall Inn be included. Placing his hands on the keyboard, he closed his eyes and allowed the music to take over. He felt each note course through him before his fingers caressed it into life.

The stage lights’ arc widened, revealing the band behind him. Their instruments remained silent as he played the opening bars. The second time the background singers uttered New York, the drummer softly struck his ride cymbal. That was Chipper’s cue.

He launched into the opening verse with only the piano and occasional cymbal crash as accompaniment. His voice hardened and the pitch rose. When he belted out the city’s name, he stood. The band’s keyboard player smoothly slid onto the bench as Chipper slid off, dislodged the microphone, and strode towards the audience.

The corners of his mouth curled upwards when he saw his coach, Adam Levine, and the song’s composer, Alicia Keys, bump fists as they swayed to the music.

His lows were lower and his highs higher than in Alicia’s version; Adam had tirelessly worked with him until his falsetto was much improved. His connection to the song was clear. Longing emotion was etched on his face as he moved down first one then the other catwalk radiating from the stage. His eyes focused on individual audience members as he tried to make them experience the song the way he did.

His attempt to connect worked. When he ended with a deep bow, the thunderous reaction led to a tear or two streaking down his cheek. He brought both hands to his face, his fingertips touched his lips, and he blew a kiss in Alicia’s direction.

When the host joined the musician on stage, Carson threw an arm around Chipper’s shoulders. Before Daly could say anything, Alicia screamed.

“Yes! Oh my god, I’ve got goosebumps. As far as I’m concerned, you can sing Empire anytime, anywhere. I think I like your version better than any other I’ve heard. Boy, you done me and my music proud. Remind me again why you’re not on my team?” Alicia’s grin turned into a frown when she stared at Levine. “I hate that Adam got you. Not only are you a threat to everyone else’s team, but did you have to go with a darn California boy?”

“I’m sorry, Alicia. I came to the competition praying Adam would turn his chair for me. When he did, it was the match I hoped for. Maybe I’ll get lucky and work with you one day.”

“Oh, you bet your bleeping butt you will. Next time we’re in the same town, we’ll sing together. If you’re at one of my concerts, you’re coming on stage with me. If it’s one of yours, I’m crashing the performance.”

Carson—his arm still around Chipper’s shoulder—gave the artist a small shake. “Thank you, Alicia Keys. Blake Shelton, what did you think?”

“I think he did pretty well. I mean, for a song about New York.”

Chipper chuckled when he noticed Adam roll his eyes.

“Based on your song selection today and a couple of shows back, I’m guessing a move to Nashville’s not in the cards. But what the heck. That was solid singing and those shoes are pretty cool.”

“The shoes are dope! I was so lost in the performance I didn’t even notice them until now.” Kelly Clarkson did not bother waiting until called. “Alicia, I’m not sure if I like your version or Chipper’s better. Sounds like Chipper loves the Big Apple as much as I love my Lone Star State.”

“I have to credit Chipper for the song selection.” Adam stood again and bowed at his team member. “At first, I was opposed to it. No offense, Alicia, but I thought after last week’s razzle-dazzle, this might have been a letdown. Boy was I wrong.”

“As usual.”

“Shut up, Shelton. Anyway, Chipper, dude, you’re destroying the competition. Each week you improve and show us you’re the one to beat this season. Hear that America? This is the man you have to vote for!”

Leaving the stage, Chipper passed by the section reserved for contestants’ family and friends. His grin grew when he saw Ethan, Zion, and Bryce raise their thumbs in salute.