Tonight, in a tiny coffee house in the middle of Hollywood, a handful of people will stand on a makeshift stage, play guitar and sing. They dream of singing to an audience of thousands.
They never will.

They do not know the formula for success. Success is one third looks, one third contacts and one third luck. Talent has nothing to do with it.

One performer rises above the others. She isn't a perfect singer, but she looks good. The audience is drawn to her personality, that'll make her contacts. And tonight, she might get lucky.

I watched her from the shadows. My designer suit at odds with the informal atmosphere.

The crowd applauds enthusiastically as she finishes. It surprises her, but not me. I've encountered her type before.

Another singer takes the stage. He has more talent, but is ugly and has the presence of a gnat.

She's the one I want.
I make my way over to the list of performers and find her name. Marla Pells.

Marla is sitting alone at the counter. The empty stool next to her becomes mine. I hand her my card:

Sound and Fury, Inc.
6596 Sunset Blvd.
Suite 406
Hollywood, CA 90213
Patrick Cole, Talent Scout
(213) 555-8321

She gazes up from the card with the familiar look of unexpected joy.

"Good evening, Ms. Pells," I begin the conversation, "We're a small, independent label. You probably haven't heard of us."

"No," she tries not to insult, "I haven't."

"We represent many folk singers," I tell her, "We recently released Laura Ash's first EP, and I just signed Beverly Diamond."

"I'm sorry," she says, "I've never heard of them."

"I thought you may have bumped into them," I say, "Since they started out in this circuit."

"Really? I'm pretty new to this."

"With the right promotion, their names will be known by people with taste. As perhaps will yours."

"Mine?" she giggles and blushes.

"Yes. You've got talent and know how to work a stage."

I order a coffee and pick up one for her as well. As we drink, I ask, "So how did you get started?"

"My mother taught me the guitar when I was a kid," she says, "But I didn't play for years."

"And let me guess," I say, "You picked it up again in college."

"Right," she says, "I felt this need to create, so I started writing poetry. Then I found an old guitar at a swap meet and to my surprise, I remembered everything."

"Just like riding a bike!"

"So I put my poems to music. They fit perfectly."

"Your lyrics are beautiful."


"Thank you."
"Call my office tomorrow morning and we'll set up an audition."

"An audition--" she's stunned.

"Don't get your hopes too high," I warn her, "We give a hundred auditions a week and rarely sign one. But I'll back you strongly."

"You will?"

"I know what sells," I say, "And they can't deny that."

"I don't believe it," she shyly looks away.

"Believe it," I say, "May I suggest doing your first song of the evening?"

"Sure," she says, "That's my favorite."

"It shows," I say, dropping a five dollar bill on the table, "This should cover you for the evening."

"Thank you," she says, her face filled with excitement.

"No," I reply, "Thank you."

I bid her good night and leave the club.

My apartment is only two blocks away, walking takes no more than half an hour. I remove my uncomfortable suit and toss the contents of its pockets onto my kitchen table.

Various business cards of all colors and styles litter my apartment. It's amazing what you can do with a color printer and nice paper. Tomorrow morning, Marla will be crushed when she tries to call the number on the card I gave her.

But tonight...

Tonight she dreams of stardom. A dream that will be closer to reality than ever before.

Thanks to me.