Will You Play for Me

Tristan Trilogy - Story I

CHAPTER 1

Tristan Mallory had practically been a prisoner in her home for almost a year now. It was a self imposed solitude. Many months ago she had been the victim of an assault and rape. It had happened after the Seattle concert where she had been the featured performer. She was a classical pianist, highly praised in high brow musical circles. Her talents were in great demand - no small achievement at the ripe old age of 24.

She had been blessed with a natural talent and by the age of six had begun to study music in a serious manner. By the time she was twelve years old, she had developed a strong knowledge of musical theory and had also excelled in vocal harmonics, particularly in regard to choral pieces such as those written by one of her favorite composers, Handel.

Her upbringing had been an extremely strict one. Only the classics and hymns were allowed to be played or listened to in her house. Her mother had died when she was very small. Her overbearing father was what was referred to as a “classical snob” and felt that all other music and musical forms were practically pagan and of no use except, perhaps, in strip clubs or orgiastic gatherings. Although he would have preferred that one of his sons had been born with the talent, it seemed that she was the child destined to be burdened with the title “prodigy”.

Tristan had been home schooled and had rarely left her fathers property, a farm in Virginia called ‘White Fences’. She really had no knowledge of popular music. She caught snippets here and there, but even most of that came courtesy of MUSAC piped into elevators and waiting rooms. As bad as that was, it fascinated her. When she was eighteen, she entered Julliard on a full musical scholarship. A whole new world opened for her then and although she was incredibly naive and innocent with virtually no “street smarts”, she found that she was well liked and popular among her peers. They teased her about her innocence, both social and physical. She was a great target for pranksters. She believed almost anything. Doubt hadn’t played a part in her past.

By now she had become familiar with some of the popular music of the day, such as numbers performed by groups such as REM, Hootie and the Blowfish and Garth Brooks as well as some she’d missed by artists like Miles Davis, the Beatles and Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young. CSNY were particularly fascinating to her because they employed tight harmonies in their music - a technique she’d grown to love.

One of the classes she took was called “The Production and Business of Music”. Students learned about record companies and various labels and how money was spent or how it was supposed to be spent. Tristan learned about managers, promoters, publicists and producers. The production segments of the class were the most interesting to her, though this interest did not lie in her area of expertise, classical piano. That was pretty much a one track wonder - no other instruments, no vocals. If the acoustics were right, if the piano had a good tone, if the recording equipment was of quality and if the pianist had talent, you were virtually guaranteed a decent track. That wasn’t true with recordings that involved several instruments and vocals. Many elements had to come together to make it work and so it usually took many attempts to achieve a satisfactory product.

One of the guest speakers for her class had been a man named Mutt Lange. He was a record producer whose career had mainly lay in rock and roll but he had recently started producing records for his wife, a country music singer. Tristan’s classroom questions had been thought provoking and had exhibited a curiosity and innate skill that students rarely had. Tristan and Mutt often spoke after class and one day he invited her to a studio across town where she could see for herself how records were made. He was working on a track with a rock band - not her real interest- but she found that she wanted to learn. Mutt let her help mix the tracks and she found that she loved it. Mutt discovered that she was good at it, too. They kept in touch professionally and personally when he left. After graduation, she began her concert career as a guest artist playing for several orchestras across the country. Later, she was performing solo concerts and was also directing large choral groups for orchestral performances.

A couple of years later, when Tristan was 24, the unthinkable happened. She had been working in a practice room at the concert venue. The place was unusually empty because it was very late, but it was secure and she felt safe. The practice rooms were small and soundproof. She had spoken to the two security guards when she had arrived earlier.

When the room suddenly darkened as she was changing her music, her first thought was that of a power failure, but when a hand suddenly covered her mouth and an arm came up across her throat and around her neck, animal panic set in. Tristan instinctively knew before it happened what was to come. She found herself thrown down on the hard tile floor, the wind completely knocked out of her. Before she could catch her breath, he was on top of her, covering her mouth again, although he realized after a few moments that the room was soundproof. He grinned in the dark - that would make things more fun... She could scream while he got off.

She couldn’t see her assailant, but she could smell him. He wore a sickly sweet cologne that reminded her of fruit - a favorite cologne of one of the security guards. Her innocence was taken in a matter of seconds and she felt her body tear. He raped her repeatedly and between the rapes, he beat her. She couldn’t recall how many times he had penetrated her, how many times he had slammed her against the floor or how many times he had slapped her face or punched her stomach. When she finally became conscious again, she had been in the hospital for 6 days and had been to surgery twice in order to correct internal injuries. She had been terribly hurt - her vaginal walls torn and her cervix bruised. There were teeth marks on her left breast. Her first sexual experience had been one of violence and terror.

After she regained consciousness, she seemed unable to speak and catatonic. She remained that way for two more months and then, even after she began to react to things around her, she remained quiet and housebound She hadn’t even tried to play the piano again. Many nights were filled with terrible dreams of the episode and she would wake up screaming, hyperventilating and covered with sweat. Tristan just sat in her small house almost without emotion – neither sad nor happy. She wondered if she would ever feel safe again.

Chapter 2

People she knew in the music business were concerned about her reluctance to re-enter the world. One of these people was Mutt. He understood why she might not want to perform for awhile, but he hated for her to abandon music altogether. He was about to start production on an album and thought that maybe he could kill two birds with one stone. He really could use her expertise in harmonics and sound mixing and this might help her find her way back to the land of the living. He was acquainted with the people he would be recording and knew them to be easy going and hospitable. It would be a good place for her to begin again.

Mutt called her one evening to propose his idea. Tristan was hesitant. Although she wasn’t particularly happy with her life now, it was, at least, familiar. Besides, she didn’t know the people he would be working with - a vocal group called the Backstreet Boys. Not only had she spent most of her life drowning in the classics, she had spent the last year avoiding music altogether. She vaguely recalled hearing the name Backstreet Boys before, but she had no idea of what kind of music they made, who they were, how many of them there were or even what they looked like. She recalled seeing a video snippet of the group on MTV a while back. The formidable rhythms and vocals had caught her attention as she had passed through the room, but the singers in the video were dressed strangely and made up to look like monsters. She was silent on the phone.

“Tristan?”, Mutt asked. “Are you there? What do you say?”

“I don’t know Mutt.” she answered. “It’s been a long time...”

“Like riding a bicycle, hon. Please - I could really use your help. Wouldn’t you like to spend a few weeks in Sweden and then change climates to Florida to finish up? It’ll be a good change for you and if you absolutely hate it, you can leave. Just give it a try, Tris - please?”

Although she had serious doubts about this, she had started to feel like she was suffocating in her home. Maybe she did need a jump-start.

“I’ll tell you what, Mutt,” she said. “Send me some CD’s of their stuff and the sheet music of what they plan to record. Give me a little time to look and listen and I’ll call you back. When do you need an answer?”

“We plan to start recording on Oct. 15,’” he answered. I need to hear from you by the 8th. I’ll overnight the music and CD’s and you call me at this number when you make a decision.”

Mutt gave Tristan his cell number and made her promise to keep an open mind about all of this. His package arrived the following day.

Tristan spent the next few days listening to Backstreet Boys music. She found her foot tapping and body moving to their sounds which were generally both joyful and uplifting as well as romantic and innocent. She also liked the three voices that seemed to be used in the solo parts.

One was very melodic and fell into a mid-range with occasional highs. Another was slightly uprange, more nasal and sounded younger than the first but with more of a guttural quality - a little more distinct and edgy - not as soft as the first voice. The third voice was raspy, soulful and slightly lower than the first two. This was the voice of a screamer.

The other two voices of the group, a high range falsetto and a bass-baritone provided the support and ceiling which encapsulated the mid-range sounds and made them one unit. Tristan liked what she heard and began to get excited. She spent some time studying the sheet music of the proposed tracks for the new album. There were about twenty selections although only twelve would make the final cut. These songs were a little different than the ones she had listened to. They were a little harder, more sophisticated and wrenching. She liked what she saw and decided to take the plunge back into the music world.

Tristan spent the next few days packing and trying to get some information on these five guys she would be spending so much time with. She found herself nervous about working with five strangers, particularly after her terrible experience last year. She knew in her head that the vast majority of men were certainly not violent but her heart had made her afraid and a little withdrawn. She was a beautiful woman, but not in the least bit vain and, despite the rape and the ‘male anxiety’ she carried with her, she was still ignorant of many things and still innocent due mostly to her overly protected youth and recent self-imposed exile.

She tried to gather information about the five group members from friends and acquaintances she had known in the business. By the time she had finished her ‘personality research’ on the guys, she had drawn several conclusions, shallow as they may be. Nick, the blond baby, was a pretty boy, childish, spoiled by the attention and a prankster. Howie, the Latin, was quiet, had no discernable personality and was wishy-washy. Brian, the voice, was a choir boy, a religious zealot who had little tolerance for fans. AJ, the wild one, was a sex maniac who smoked, drank and had the largest libido east of the Mississippi. Last, but don’t you dare call him least, was Kevin, the old man. He had been described as sullen and serious - a quick tempered, know it all, control freak.

Tristan began to wonder if she had made a mistake. She still had no idea of what these guys looked like. Mutt had sent unlabeled CD’s and he had assumed that she had seen pictures of the group. Tristan hadn’t realized the popularity of this musical sensation and hadn’t thought to glance at any teen magazine in the country which was sure to contain loads of photos of these media darlings. She boarded a plane for Stockholm on Oct. 14.

Chapter 3

“Okay, when is the ‘super sound mixer’ supposed to get here?”, Kevin asked irritably. He was ready to get started and wanted everything in place so they could get going before attention spans started to lag. “This isn’t very professional, Mutt.”, he muttered.

“The plane was delayed, but the cab is now on it’s way,” Mutt answered.

Kevin wasn’t totally appeased. Although he came across as a bad-ass, he wasa little shy about working with people he didn’t know. He had never even heard of this guy, Tristan Mallory.

Tristan arrived at the studio and rushed down the hallway, knowing she was late. She entered the control booth carrying copies of the sheet music Mutt mailed a week earlier. Mutt and Max Martin, the songwriter for many of the proposed tracks, were in the musicians sound studio with headphones on listening to the instrumental arrangements that were to back up the vocals yet to be recorded. She paused to look at the five figures whowere standing in the recording studio directly in front of her. She could identify them immediately, if only by the process of elimination.

The first and most clearly identifiable body belonged to AJ McLean. His tatoos, sunglasses and jewelry gave him away almost immediately, not to mention his sexual dance movements which were set to the pencil drumming of the blond, Nick. Nick looked innocent, although Tristan doubted that he was. Howie was standing in a corner, talking on a cell phone. His wavy hair, olive skin and brown eyes told her that he must be the Latin. That left the last two, Kevin and Brian. The shorter man walked over to the blond and started swatting at his drumming fingers, laughing, which left the tall, dark-haired one standing at the mike, studying the sheet music with a slight frown on his face. She concluded correctly that the shorter of the two was Brian - the tall, brooding one, Kevin. They hadn’t seen her yet.

AJ was the first to notice her. “Hey, baby!” he yelled, grinning. You must be the girl the label sent over who’s gonna “open” for us!”

Tristan cringed. The double entendre was unmistakable and deliberate. He laughed at his own joke and Howie smacked him on the head, continuing his phone conversation. Brian just looked at her blankly, saying nothing while Nick rolled his eyes and asked in a slightly exasperated tone, “Did you want an autograph or something?”

The tall dark one looked her up and down as if assessing her worthiness and then said sarcastically, “Let us know when the ‘Great Tristan Mallory’ arrives, will you?” He has assumed that she worked in the studio offices, probably answering the phones or fetching coffee. As if to confirm her suspicions he added, “And could you round us up some bottled water?”

Now it was Tristan’s turn to roll her eyes. “Oh brother, what have I gotten myself into?” she thought and then decided to play along for a bit. She left the control room and went to find Kevin’s precious water. She found water in the kitchen fridge and returned with six bottles. She entered the recording studio and began to pass out the water. AJ gave her a hug, Brian thanked her, Howie nodded, Nick shot her his famous smile and Kevin continued to study the music, preoccupied. Tristan walked back over to Nick and smiled ever so sweetly.

“How about that autograph?”, she asked in her southern accent.

“Hey, you’re American! I thought you were Swedish!” he answered, picking up a piece of paper and a pen from a nearby table.

“From Virginia.” she replied.

“What’s your name, sweet thing?”, Nick asked, pen in hand.

Tristan grinned to herself. “Tristan Mallory,” she said emphatically.

All activity stopped in the recording booth, even Kevin’s studying. Tristan looked around at five pairs of eyes, two brown, two blue and one green, staring at her, mouths slightly open. They had been expecting a thirty - forty year old man, not a beautiful twenty-five year old woman.

Tristan Trilogy - Story I

"Will You Play for Me?" is a work of fiction.
The characters and events portrayed are fictitious.
Any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.

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Fiction by Grace