Run In

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"…and remember, don't talk to anyone you don't know." my Dad said for the third time in a ten minutes span.

"Dad, we don't know anybody here."

"Then just stay here and be careful." he said. He put a hand on one of Lucas and my shoulders, directing us down onto a small couch in the corner. Unbelievable. I finally get to come to one of these things, and I have to sit in the corner and not talk to anyone.

Like that's gonna last long. I am sitting in John Mayer's dressing room, not ten feet away, while my Dad interviews him and he expects me to just sit here? The guy is one of my favorites.

We've been in Halifax for exactly two and a half hours and so far my Dad hasn't let us out of his sights. You'd think if I could survive Manhattan for fifteen years I can make it in a place like this. It's not exactly a metropolis, even though it's becoming quite the haven for indie music in Canada. This festival has been going on for the last ten years and this year has the best line up you can get, meaning no bubblegum pop one-hit-wonders. I overheard my Dad telling someone it's the latter day Woodstock.

I start to get up to find a way to talk to John Mayer when Lucas grabs my hand. "What are you doing?" I hiss.

"Lane, you heard your Dad. I don't think he was kidding."

"Lucas that's John Mayer over there. I have to talk to him. And I know you want to, don't deny it." I challenge him.

"I really can't talk you out of this, can I?" he asks.

I shake my head. So he gets up and we walk over to where they're talking.

"Dad." I say, plastering a sweet, apologetic expression on my face. He stops mid sentence and turns to me. "We're gonna go find a soda machine, okay?"

He gives me the look that tells me he's uber ticked at me, but just smiles. "Alright, but come straight back."

Just then John Mayer himself reaches into a nearby cooler and pulls out two Pepsis. I'm never throwing this can away. He introduces himself and we join in the conversation. I think I may have died and gone to heaven. Later on as we watch him perform, my Dad puts him arm around my shoulder, signaling he's not mad. Is he the greatest or what?

Twelve hours later it's just getting better. I think I've met everyone I've loved to listen to, the ones that are still alive anyway, and Lucas has this perma grin he's trying to hide so as to look cool and aloof.

It's so not working.

"How cool is this?" I whisper to him as Ravage is playing a blistering set. Being that they're Lucas's favorite band he doesn't respond, only grunts.

"Lucas!"

"Sorry. Lane," he gestures to the band, "Ravage. Can't this wait? I hear daily how amazing your father is, just let me bask in the brilliance."

"Fine." I leave him at the stage and wander away to see what else is going on. My Dad has relaxed a bit, enough not to send me to military school if he sees I'm not with Lucas. I may not get to go to one of these again anytime soon and I want to see all I can.

I spy my Dad talking to some guy in a blue leather jacket. The press pass hanging from his lapel says Rolling Stone. Should I? Why not.

"…it's uncanny." I hear the guy say when I get behind the post they're standing near.

"Yeah, it is. She looks more like her everyday." My Dad's reply sounds sad. I wonder who he's talking about.

"Can she sing like her mother?"

"She's pretty good. But Jude…she had the greatest natural talent I've ever seen. I've yet to see someone who can even come close. Of course I'm a little biased. "

"No I agree. Jude had an amazing gift." the guy says.

Out of the corner of my eye I see Lucas waving to me. Reluctantly, I head over. That conversation was getting pretty interesting.

So I was right about my father loving that girl's music. And more than that-he knew her. No wonder he liked her so much. And it seems like she has a daughter who wants to sing too. I'd love to meet her. Hearing about this Jude girl makes me want to learn more about her.

"What?" I ask him when I get back where he's standing.

"Who is that guy? I know I've seen him before." He points, not so discreetly at a man standing on the other side of the stage talking to Johnny Lang. Another guy whose even cooler than his music.

"I don't know. But he does look really familiar." I study the guy, trying to place him. A few years older than my Dad. Dark hair, intense eyes. Expensive clothes. Plus he has the vestiges of good looks that suggests he was something of a hottie once upon a time. Also the way people are staling glances at him shows he's obviously famous-or was at one point. And he clearly fits right in at things like this.

"Excuse me." I say to a guy passing by us with a stack of flyers. If he works here, he's bound to know who this dude is. "Do you know who that is?"

He glances over at the guy and then back at us with an expression like we're morons. "That's Tom Quincy." he says as if it should be perfectly obvious and heads off to wherever he was going in the first place.

"Tom Quincy? As in Tommy Q? The producer?" Lucas looks back over at him. "I thought he'd be taller."

"Yeah, but he certainly looks like he belongs in a boy band."

It's hard to believe that this is the guy who pretty much rules all of Canadian music. He just doesn't seem…hard enough. Darius Mills, now there was a guy who could rule the industry.

"Hey guys, you ready to call it a night?" My Dad comes up behind us and we both jump.

"Dad, you scared us to death." He gives me that look, the 'yeah right' one and began to lead us through the crowd to the exit.

"You guys have fun?" he looks over his shoulder at us and nearly collides with someone else going for the door.

"Sorry man, my fault." The other guys says and I can see now it's Tom Quincy. My Dad's face completely drains of all it's color and then flushes an angry red unlike anything I've ever seen. Tom's expression is a little more calm. He doesn't exactly look happy to see my dad, but he hides it better.

"Jamie. It's been a long time."

I watch the muscles in his jaw tense and he grit's the next words out between clenched teeth. "Not long enough."

An angry looks comes over Tom's features and he juts his head backwards. I follow the movement and see a boy a few years younger than me and obviously his son standing behind him. Seems he didn't want him to hear that.

Then his eyes fall on me and the weirdest look enters his eyes. Like he recognizes me. But he couldn't. I've never met this guy before.

"Is that…" Tom starts but my Dad moves in front of me and cut him off with a very harsh "Don't." He grabs my wrist and Lucas's and yanks us out the door.

"Dad? What was that?" I have never seen my Dad so livid before. It's kinda scary.

"That was something you need to forget ever happened." is his reply. And try as I might I can't get him to say anymore.

The next day we were back in New York, two days early. Guess it'll be awhile before we go back to Canada.

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A/N: Short, but I'm kinda pressed for time. The next one will be longer. And just for the record, I made up the band Ravage. If there really is a band call that, I didn't know. And I chose John Mayer for the beginning because I love his music and can see him being around for a long time.