“I still remember your face,
Before it changed,
Before we went our separate ways,
I still remember the taste,
Of your lips on mine,
So why the hell did I leave you behind?

YEAH!”

Pearce began strumming his guitar furiously as the low-key crowd went wild in approval.

“Thankyou, thankyou!” He spoke as his performance came to a close, “I'll be here all week.”
Pearce smiled as he clambered off the stage and headed towards his dressing room, when he was on stage it was like all his problems just disappeared.
His dressing room was different, however. It gave him time to think. Think about what he gave up, and what could have been.

“Mr. Pearce?” He was gladly interrupted by the owner of the bar, “Your agent's on the phone for you.”

“Thanks Bridget.” Pearce forced a smile as he grabbed the phone, “Let's see what she wants this time...”

“How is my favourite client doing?” A gritty, forcibly friendly voice boomed into his ear.

“Not too bad, Mrs. Patterson. The crowd seemed to like it.”

“Good, good... look, I have some exciting news!”

Pearce learned forward on to the edge of his seat, “Gosh, what is it?”

“A big opportunity is what it is! I've got you a meeting with Scorcher himself!”

“THE Scorcher?!” Pearce gasped. Scorcher was the modern day god of rock 'n' roll and one of Pearce's greatest influences and childhood heroes, he had always dreamed of meeting him.

“Yes. 'THE' Scorcher. He wants to meet you at that nasty bar you're always performing at to discuss the possiblity of supporting him when he goes on tour next month.”

“Wow! Mrs. Patterson, that's fantastic!” Pearce exclaimed.

“Yeah. But you better not mess it up kid, or else I'm dropping you in an instant!”

Pearce smirked, “Whatever happened to me being your 'favourite client'?”

“Oh please; you're 18, barely get any gigs and you've already got that whole depressed rockstar thing going on. This is your one shot Pearce, make a good impression and you might go far.”

Pearce gulped, this was the first time he had truly experienced the stress of the music industry.

Mrs. Patterson continued, “Okay dear, I've gotta go wax my elbows — the meeting is tomorrow night at 7:00, good luck!”

Pearce cautiously opened the door to the bar — 'The Cavern' it was known as. He was usually a little nervous when he came in here for a gig, but this time there was so much more on the line. His future.
He began scanning the tables in search of the spiky jet-black hair that helped make Scorcher such an icon. 'Maybe I should do something with my hair too?' Pearce thought before he was taken by surprise as his hero seemed to have spotted him first.

“You must be the guy!” Scorcher grinned confidently as he strutted in his direction.

“Y...y...y....”

“Haha, you must be a fan. I like you kid, and I especially like your music! Come with me, I've booked a private booth for us.”

Pearce followed with the look of shock still pasted across his face.

“So...” Scorcher sat awkwardly opposite the gobsmacked teen, “I wanna make this brief, I'm heading to a party down at 50 Cent's house later. I want you to support me at a few of my gigs next month, interested?”

Pearce nodded frantically, “Yes, yes, yes! It would be a dream!”

Scorcher grinned, “Fantastic!” His glossy hair shone against the lights as he turned towards the TV beside them. “Hey, hey, I like this girl — she used to be in All Girl, didn't she?”

Pearce turned around to see a young girl performing at some music awards show. He nodded as he downed his pint, “Yeah she was...”

“Daaaamn,” Scorcher scratched his crotch, “And a hot piece of ass she is too.”

“I heard she's a dude...”

“Seriously?!”

Pearce had now started on another pint, “Yeah...”

“Holy shit! Well, I guess that'd explain why she wouldn't hook up with me at Usher's party. I mean, look at me!” Scorcher gestured towards his body.

Pearce continued to nod, “Yep, must be it...”

“Yeah, all this, all this comes from serious working out. Maybe you should try it yourself some time, aye? You skinny runt.” Scorcher poked Pearce's flat belly and laughed. “Anyway, I guess I better be heading off now...”

Pearce shook the hand of his hero and bid him farewell.

Scorcher turned on his heels just as he was about to walk out the door, “Shit, sorry mate, I never even managed to get your name...?”

“Oh, it's Pearce. Graeme Pearce.”

Jenkins knocked on the star of the dressing room door. “Hey, can I come in?”

After getting no response the always fancily dressed man proceeded to walk inside. There he faced the star herself, surrounded by beauty products, costumes and empty bottles.

“It was a good performance tonight, dear. Perhaps your best so far this year.”

The young girl looked up with tears in her eyes.

Jenkins continued, “But you haven't been the same since the Grammys, have you?”

She shook her head despairingly.

“You just need to forget about him, and forget about your past in general.” He pointed towards the television screen replaying her performance from earlier, “This is all that matters now. You are Charlotte Tate, princess of pop and an idol to so many little girls out there.”

Charlotte looked up to her helper and managed a smile, “I guess you're right, Jenkins. You always are.”

Jenkins bettered her smile and dived in for a hug, “There, there, I've got you sweetheart.”

Charlotte breathed heavily whilst watching the television screen from over Jenkins' shoulder.
She had no reason to be sad, she had it all — the money, the fans, a queen of pop adoptive mother, and a talent she could share with the world.
'And what does Graeme have?' She thought to herself, 'He's probably just working at KFC or something now...'