Spotlight

21

The days had flown by with all the media outlets publishing photos of my eighteenth birthday bash on their websites and in their magazines. What they didn't publish or mention though, was the fact that Tristan and his band had performed together for the first time in two years.

It had made major news within all the celebrities in Hollywood, as they were a well known band within the industry before they went on a hiatus and ultimately separated to do their own projects.

I ran my hands over the multiple platinum records that were hung up on the wall of Tristan's Los Angeles house. It was situated on the beach, and it was the first time I had ever seen it in my own eyes – aside from all the photos on the internet.

The band together had created only two albums in their short time together, but both albums had gone multi platinum in multiple countries, hence the reason why Tristan hung them up in a room of his.

Tristan left to get some groceries about an hour ago, so I decided to roam around his two bedroom home to find something to do, but instead my interest led me to the room that overlooked the ocean with its big bay windows and deck that stretched along the perimeter of the house.

I stepped down onto the lower ground as the room was a split floor and made my way over to the grand piano that had been sitting in a segregated corner of the room as he no longer needed or used it. It was a shame to think of his music career and how it fell to shambles, because the band could have become even bigger than it was if the sky was their only limit.

I had personally never seen Tristan play the piano or keyboard, so I assumed it was mainly for his band mates when they used to come here to jam out and create music for thousands of people to hear.

In the corner of the room was a small booth that had around five circular microphones shoved inside. The small booth was also filled with all sorts of sheet music and notepads that looked like they had been abandoned long ago. It looked still intact, as if someone has just dropped everything and left. I ran my hands along the walls of the booth until I reached the circular metal door handle. I attempted to open it for a few moments, after realizing it had been locked and the door handle had become dusty. As I looked deeper into the booth, I noticed four identical sets of headphones that could only be told apart by the separate initials of each band member in yellow writing on the right ear. They hung over a music stand, which also looked like it had been out of action for quite some time now.

I travelled to the next destination of the room, which was where Tristan kept an empty desk with draws on the left of it. I sifted through the draws and noticed the different sketches that they had created for album ideas, and the old sheet music they had for songs they had written but never released. I continued to search through the draws and imagined how much his fans would pay for this kind of stuff, or how they would kill to even know unreleased music existed.

I turned quickly on my feet when the sliding door on the side overlooking the beach slid open, and Jordan walked through the door after wiping his feet on the mat provided. I stared at him from across the room as he hadn't noticed me yet. His skin was tanned, almost a golden brown. His hair was messy and fell over his face as he turned to shut the door behind him.

He quickly jumped down the set of three timber stairs into the center of the room, which was the same level as where the piano was. I was on the outer level above him, where the desk was.

"Oh," he looked up. His brown hair was shining in the light from outside. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his basketball style shorts. He wore a grey tank top that fell down to his elbow, revealing his ribcage on both sides of his body.

"It's Jordan, right?" I asked, walking down the stairs towards him. I outstretched my right hand to shake his. He reciprocated the movement and shook my hand back.