I carefully started in on the easy, lilting guitar chords of the song. I almost yawned, but managed to keep it in. Saturday mornings had to be my favorite time of the week, because it was "jam session" time. I started to sing. "There you are-"

-but was cut short by the phone ringing. "Aaaaah!!!" I yelled.

My dad looked at me strangely. "Well, answer it."

I narrowed my eyes at him, a habit that I have with people who point out the obvious. He just narrowed his eyes back at me and continued playing. So I put down the guitar and ran all the way upstairs to retrieve the cordless phone. By the time I found it under a pillow in my dad's room, I'm surprised that the caller hadn't hung up. "Hello?" I breathlessly answered.

"Hello, is this Katherine?" a voice that I did not recognize answered.

"This is," I said. "Who’s calling?"

"My name is Tim Holmes, and a recording of your vocals, impressive I might add, caught my attention," he said.

My mind went numb. At first I was like recording? What recording? But I suddenly realized..."Do you mind me asking what your occupation is, Mr. Holmes?" I asked him.

"Not at all. I’m the head of Holmes Artisian Entertainment," he said. "And please call me Tim, Ms. Chasez."

Ooh. He pronounced the name right. I already liked his guy. "Only if you call me Katherine," I said.

"It’s a deal, Katherine," he said.

"Where’d you get my tape?" I asked him, flopping down on my unmade bed. "That’s a stupid question," I told myself outloud. "I’ve only made one tape. Where else would you it?" Sometimes my own ditziness amazes me.

"I knew you’d be asking that," he laughed. "I recieved this tape from FreeLance Entertainment."

I knew that. I just knew that.

"How good is it actually?" I asked. "There has to be some distortion since it was recorded over the phone."

"There is actually some static or something, but it’s pretty good. You go from ‘hailed’ to ‘twilight’," he said. "But anyways, I was interested in meeting you and maybe offering you a position as an artist."

"You kidding me?" I asked. I knew that this would be the easy part of my goal, but I didn't think that it would be that easy.

"I'm as serious as a heart attack. What would be a convineint time to meet?" he asked.

"What's good for you?" I asked. I would meet this guy in five minutes on the moon if he asked me to.

"Anytime you can come. We can either meet at my office, or we can meet at my house, or somewhere else if you want," he said. I definitely liked this guy. I had known him all of ten minutes and I wasn't even signed yet and he made me feel like I was family. How nice.

"One day after school?" I said.

"That would be fine," he said. He gave me his office address, in a suburb of Orlando some thirty miles away. "I hope to see you soon," he said.

"I would count on it," I smiled. I couldn't help it. My smile had gotten as big as I could possibly allow it, and it kind of hurt. "Good bye Mr. Hol--Tim," I corrected myself.

"Good bye Katherine," he said. I hung up and I almost had to keep myself from screaming. I headed back to the back room, where we were before, and I almost screamed again. It was like I was walking in a dream, like this wasn't even happening to me. It was happening way too fast for me to think about it like it was me.

"Who was that?" my dad asked.

"Just Jessica. She needed help with homework," I said. I wasn't going to tell him. Not until I was actually signed. I couldn't tell you why, I just felt like that it was something that should be left alone until it went through.

If it went through at all.

After a slight technical problem with my junker car, a run in with a fairly large cat on the highway (don't ask), and about an hour and a Hershey bar later, I was standing in front of a three story building that actually looked like a house, but it was the headquarters to Holmes Artisian Entertainment. The grass was neatly cut, and flower beds near the door were well-kept, and I almost wondered if he lived here, like on the top floor or something. Hm. Go figure.

I opened the front door, and felt the slight temperature difference from the outside late March afternoon to the lobby. It gave me a slight chill and I couldn't help but shiver and chatter a bit. That only made the young secretary notice me. "Can I help you?" she asked, taking off her black framed glasses and put them on the desk she was sitting at.

I approached her carefully. "I'm looking for Mr. Holmes," I said, even though he said to call him Tim. I didn't know who this woman was, or what she would think of me calling him Tim.

"Oh, you must be Katherine," she said. "I'm his sister, Leslie. This place has just been in an uproar since we got that tape of yours. Quite a voice, too," she said.

"Thank you," I said. "Where is he?" "Oh, he's downstairs with someone. You can wait for him in his office. Second floor, first door on the left," she said. She turned back to her computer and left me to find the second story all by myself.

Okay, one thing's for sure. That building is bigger on the inside than the outside hints at. If I had a map, I might have been okay. But I finally found the office, and I was a bit surprised that he hadn't beaten me there. God that would have been embarassing. But like I said, I finally found it and took a seat in there.

About five minutes later, he came in, and greeted me. "Hello," he said.

I stood up to shake his hand, only to discover that he was about four inches shorter than I was. "Um, hi. You're short."

He laughed. "Vertically challenged, if you please," he smiled at me.

I clapped my hand over my big mouth. "I didn't really say that did I?"

"Yes you did. But it's alright. I get that more than you could possibly imagine," he said. "Well, it's a pleasure to finally meet you," he added.

"Same here. But if you don't mind or think me rude, can we get on with business because my dad is expecting me home at six, and he doesn't know that I'm here," I said.

"Not at all," he said, leading me out of the office, and motioned towards the stairs. "Why doesn't he know that you're here?" he asked.

"I didn't tell him," I said.

"How come?"

"Because...I don't know...I just felt like this is something that he shouldn't know until it's definitely going to happen."

"Nerves?" he suggested.

"Yeah," I confessed. "Nerves. Pressure. Whatever you want to call it," I said.

Whoa, wait a minute. Here was this guy that I had known for a minimal amount of time, and here I was spilling my guts to him. Was there something wrong with this picture?

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

"Then, if I sign you, you can't sign, because you're a minor. Your parent would have to sign."

"Oh," I said. That kind of put a damper on that. He opened a door to a lower level, a basement I guess, and went down. I followed him, and found a surprisingly wonderful environment. Recording and sound booth. Heaven and a half.

"Okay, first we're going to see what you're truly made of. Step into the booth please," he said, taking out a key and unlocking the door. I stepped in and made myself comfortable on the tall stool sitting in the middle of the small room, placing myself smack dab in front of a microphone. Me head was buzzing with adrenaline from the rush of just being in that environment. I wasn't even singing yet and I was having fun. Meanwhile, on the otherside of the plexiglas, Tim was making himself comfortable with the mix board. This guy could do it all.

"Let's just take a dry test run, kay?" he asked. "Just go with the track, I think you should recognize it."

Indeed I did. It was Imagine by John Lennon. I really like that song, it's a bit dark for my tastes though. But I sang right with the music, and knew it was all me. I loved doing this. But my euphoria was backed by a sense of uncertainty. If I couldn't do this, I don't know what I would do.

When the song ended, only then did I take my eyes off of the microphone and look at the control room, where Tim was nodding appreciatively.

And so it continued for a few more songs, and I knew each by heart and didn't miss a beat. Then he told me to go ahead and get out of the recording booth. He shook my hand. "Congratulations. You're HAE's newest recording artist." I smiled. I thought I was going to jump out of my skin, but fortunately I was able to keep under the utmost control. Then he handed me a cell phone and grinned. "Now call your parents to come and sign," he said.

I grimaced. "Parent."

"I'm sorry, please excuse me," he said sheepishly. "Call and I'll have my sister draw up the papers." With that he left. I looked at the phone in my hand. I did so not want to do this. I sighed and dialed our home phone number, knowing that he should be home. On the fourth ring, he picked up and said, "Hello?"

I sighed. "Hi, dad? This is Katherine."

"Hey Kat. Is something wrong?" he asked.

"No..." I said. "In fact...it's quite the opposite."

"Katherine, what's going on?" he asked.

"Dad, you're going to laugh when you hear this," I said.

"Will you tell me so I can just get to laughing and move on with my life?" he said.

"Well...it's actually a long story."

"Can I get the Reader's Digest version?" he asked me, and I could almost see him either standing next to the phone in the kitchen or sitting in the living room, tapping his foot waiting to hear my epic tale.

"Sure," I said. "Well, it starts with last Saturday. Remember that phone call that I answered and I said that it was Jessica?"

"Reader's Digest version, Kat. Shortened," he said.

"Well, anyway, it wasn't Jess. It was a guy named Tim Holmes, and he got ahold of my tape from Lance, and wanted to listen to me some more, so I said that I'd come and meet with him, and he wants to sign me to his managment company, but I can't sign alone because I'm a minor, so I need you to come. Short enough for you?" I asked him.

"Yup. Where is it?" he said.

I gave him the address, and he said, "All the way out there?"

"Yup."

"Okay," he said. "I'll be there as soon as I can. Bye," he said.

"Bye," I said. Once again, things were happening too fast for me to comprehend. It was giving me a headache and a stomach ache at the same time. Damn.

Tim returned with a small pile of papers, about a quarter of the size of my stack of college brochures were that one day, way back when. He sat on the steps. "Do you want to sit down?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said. "It'll be awhile before my dad gets here." I sat two steps below him and stretched my legs out.

We spent the next half hour talking about anything. I found out that he had a wife, and she was pregnant with their first child. I looked over the contract (I bet you know why) and signed where I was supposed to. I gave him "The Reader's Digest Version" of my small family, and what had led me to this in the first place. By the time I got done with that, my dad was there in all his parenting glory.

"I can't believe you didn't tell me," he said, almost disappointed. Believe me, I'd rather have my dad mad at me than disappointed. But, that will be another story, for another time.

"I just didn't," I said.

"I guess it's okay. I probably would have freaked if I would have known," he smiled a little. Sad, but so true. Tim coughed from behind me, and I remembered him.

"Oh God, sorry," I said. Not to make an excuse, but he's short, come on. "Dad, this is Tim. Tim, this is my dad, Josh." They shook hands as men do, and I handed my dad the packet of papers that stood as my contract with HAE. "Here you are," I said.

"Great," he said. "I suppose I should look at this more closely than a permission slip," he mused.

"If the spirit so moves you," I said.

"Very funny."

And so the contract was signed, and so began my wonderful but horridly terrifying journey into the entertainment business. Which led to my late night at HAE's headquarters, recording a demo. For some reason, it took two people to run the mix board, but how that came about was none of my nevermind.

I had started with this song that I had found, and I don't even remember what it was called. Stupid, eh? Anyways, the first couple times I tried it I really sucked. To only make things worse, my dad got into "work" mode as a producer, and quite frankly that scared me. You know how everyone says that it's really bad? Well, they're wrong.

It's ten times worse.

After about the ninth try, I laid my head down on the edge of the music stand before me and was about ready to cry. I heard the door opened and in stepped my dad. I was kind of hoping that he was going to talk to me as father to daughter, and not producer to recording artist, because I've seen how mean my dad can get in the recording studio.

I could feel him standing beside me. "Are you doing okay?" he asked.

"I suck," I proclaimed.

"You don't suck," he said. "You're just in a slump," he assured me.

"Gee, thanks," I said. A stoney silence followed.

Oops.

"Katherine Elizabeth," he said sternly. "Look me in the eyes, please."

Of course I had no choice to look at them, and at that moment that was at the top of my list of things that I didn't want to do, but I had to do it anyways. I feebly looked up, and instead of the stern, producer look I expected to see, I saw the same fatherly, loving expression I saw when I fell off my tricycle at age three. "I'm screwing up."

"You're not screwing up...okay, so that's a white lie. You are screwing up, but it's not that bad. It's just little stuff, and there's a simple cure to that. Do you remember what your ninth grade Health teacher told you?" he said.

I raised an eyebrow in confusion. "Airway, breathing, and compression?"

"No, about stress management. Take a deep breath. You can do this," he said. And with that he left me.

That pep talk was all that I needed. Within four takes I had it.

My dad and Tim were talking and fiddling with control buttons while I silently prayed that that was it and I had done a good job. Tim looked at my dad and gave him a thumbs up. "It's a winner!" he said.

I felt like jumping around and dancing and yelling. I settled for jumping off the stool and thrusting my arms up in the air.

It just felt so damn good!