This is our chapter two. Not as "there" as the previous one but it has it's own purpose. A lot of the grittier things for this story has already been written. It's just a matter of working around them. As you read this, think of Tommy and Jude and the breakdown of the age barrier. Think of that here. It will come in handy.

PS: REVIEW IF YOU WANT MORE.

There's something about the demo making process that will always hold a special place in my heart. Four lonely tracks can either make or break an artist and I always make it my personal mission to have these four tracks the best things the artist will ever put out. Vocals will be on point and the technical work will be perfected to a science. I know that I can say all of this, knowing it holds absolute truth, when the real deals come through for artists who are great to work with. Sitting in a room with someone for ten hours at a time will clue someone in on how they will act once they get the recording contract and this evaluation, no matter how sneaky or deceitful, is the true test. A person could come out with platinum work but if they are horrible people, they'll never get a deal. It's really that simple.

After my brief encounter with Molly the previous day, I had no doubt in my mind that she'd get signed. There was always the little detail that the signing was left up to me, but no one needed to know that. Something about her drew me in and I couldn't get her off my mind. I wanted to know what she could do.

I'd been working on musical arrangements for the song she'd sang for me when she walked in twenty minutes early. She stood in the doorway shyly, watching me intently as I tweaked a knob here and pushed a lever there. Normally, I'd become unsettled when I appeared to be under the scrutiny of a would-be artist, but unlike most, she didn't fidget or become inpatient with me for not acknowledging her. She merely stood there, watching.

"I was thinking that the beat would be quite lazy with an even lazier piano melody." I looked over my shoulder and she nodded at my suggestions. I went back to the board. "Good morning by the way. You're early."

"I wasn't sure which subway line I was supposed to get on."

"Two blocks from Honoré-Beaugrand, east on the green line."

She tossed her bag beside the worn desk chair next to mine, sitting down and continuing to watch me.

"I'll be sure to remember that. Thanks."

Finally, I stopped messing about with the soundboard and turned to face her.

"You're from Toronto, right?"

There's a strange thing about producing someone. You have to get inside of their head, their lives, and their pasts. It's almost as if you have to know every minute detail about the person at hand for any song to work on any type of level. I never enjoyed the psychologist aspect of producing, but it was a necessary evil, I suppose. Jude was the only person I didn't mind learning about. I'd worked with her for nearly five years and during that time, I thought I'd learned as much as anyone should ever know about someone else. It felt weird knowing I was about to do it again, that I'd end up knowing more.

"Yeah, I live with my mom and dad."

"No brothers or sisters?"

"Nope; Mom only wanted me I guess."

Her fingers played with the ends of her hair mindlessly and I briefly wondered what it felt like. I didn't know where the idea came from and I was mentally chastising myself when Molly looked to become concerned.

"What's wrong, Mr. Quincy?"

"Tommy." I'd lost her with that. "Call me Tommy. Mr. Quincy's too… something if we plan on working together. And nothing's wrong, just thinking about things."

"Like what?" It wasn't prying or even nosey in the way that she asked me; it just seemed innocent. That bothered me slightly and I didn't know why. I shook it away, though. I was complicated in my likes and dislikes. There was no telling why I felt what I did and I didn't feel like psychoanalyzing myself at that moment.

"How old are you, Molly?" Her eyebrows rose sharply. "And no need to lie either. You've already signed the agreement." I smirked at my own remark. Oh, how it amused me! What webs we were weaving…

"I turned fifteen last week,"

I simply nodded, my notion of her being a minor confirmed and a far off feeling of déjà vu sweeping over me. I turned towards the glass to the booth, motioning towards it.

"We should probably get you in there. We can talk later."

We'd had a good day. She recorded her song and we laid out plans for other ones we'd tackle another day. I offered to drive her to wherever she was staying but she insisted on hitting the Montreal streets alone. I didn't argue with her and we went our separate ways sometime after five.

The ride home was mentally exhausting. Never before had a new artist come into my studio and left me feeling so confused about things. All of it seemed too surreal and I kept digging into my memory banks, thinking about my past more and more.

She made me think of Jude.

Was it my subconscious way of warning me for the future I was about to get into? Did I already know something but wasn't letting myself see it? Questions like these floated in and out of my brain rapidly. They seemed so ludicrous, so impossible to comprehend. Molly wasn't Jude; she didn't act like, sound like, or even look like her. She didn't push me or challenge me the way Jude had. For seven hours we'd co-existed without a scene or an argument.

Why was I doing this to myself? I hadn't known her for twenty-four hours and I was already letting her get to me. I knew then as I know now that her ability to get under my skin was probably wrong. What middle-aged man becomes all consumed with a fifteen year old girl?

I resolved then and there that I wouldn't torment myself any longer. I wouldn't follow the same treacherous path I'd gone down 20 years ago and be damned if I let it affect the present.