“…and this will be on a monthly basis. Now as for concert fees…” the producer’s lawyer was going over the details of the contract. Peter and Molly were sitting on leather couch on the 50th or 60th floor of a scraper in New York. Peter was looking outside the window with a smile. Somewhere far away was their little apartment in Jersey where they made all those youtube videos together.
“Uhm,” said Molly finally, a little confused, but then she smiled bright, “Yeah, it all sounds great.”
“Yes,” Peter nodded, “Thank you, sir, uhm, I mean Frank.”
The producer nodded. He was a slick hipster type, young idealist turn successful patron of arts “You guys are gonna make some good music for this generation.”
The lawyer spoke again, “If I may interject, there is one more caveat. Peter, you cannot be in any of the videos, or on stage. You will still be making music, but we will use somebody else to…”
“What?” Molly stood up. The producer was looking away.
“Molly, you’re a beautiful girl, but Peter,” said the lawyer, “You’re not exactly media material. Now, we can make a lot of things work, but…”
Peter was looking out the window still. The apartment in Jersey was really far away.