She ran, her guitar kicking at the back of her legs. "A hit" she thought excitedly. "I know it's a hit." Luanne opened the wood screen door and ran inside. The door pounded shut with a series of bangs, each one softer than the last.
             "Dave?" She tripped over Mr. Whiskers, her cat, and fell forward onto the floor; the guitar serenading her with an unmelodic accompaniment. "For God's sake Mr. Whiskers! You know I can't see you in the dark." She pulled the guitar from her back and checked for any signs of damage. None were visible. She patted the black cat between its ears. "Dave!" Her voice bounced off the walls, echoing the fact that she was alone.
             "Okay Mr. Whiskers, you wanna listen?'' She picked her guitar up from the floor and sat down on the couch. The cat jumped up next to her and rubbed its head on the underside of her arm, purring in a loud baritone cat voice. "How 'bout you?" She yelled to her dog, Alec.
             She pulled the leather strap over her shoulder, snugged her guitar into place under her chest and plucked at the strings successively to retune. Dave had bought the Fender for her last year, after she won the Bow Ridge Talent Search. "Baby, one day you'll be a big ol' star." He said when he handed it to her.
             For the last year, she had put all her efforts into becoming the next Shania Twain. She was tall and pretty, and blond. That wasn't enough though, Nashville was full of pretty blondes. She needed a hit. A song to propel her to the top of the charts. She had been writing music since she was twelve; now at twenty-two she had quite a large body of music to pull from. Today had been the best day in her life. She wrote her latest song while she was on break at the diner that morning; and it was good. Careless Lies. She chose that song to perform at her audition that afternoon for a studio owner named John Loma. She had a hunch it was special, and it was. John said he wanted her to record it. She was to meet ...