Jim Harris had arrived at the All Inclusive mid day Friday. He had a meeting on Monday and wanted down time.
He was a high pressured music producer, trying to quickly sign those who were hot.
Most were meteorites; one flash, endless darkness.
Some were comets, they'd shine somewhat longer, disappear forever.
He didn't expect to find a star which shone for years, churning out hits that would outlive them.
He was meeting some group on Monday and having been through this before, new the genres of stupidness he would encounter.
There would be the low talent loud mouth who made demands. The slightly talented dunce who needed everything explained.
Jim didn't expect an intelligent person to be in the room; just hungry managers, maybe a third rate lawyer, and the 'musicians'.
So, he'd relax until Monday morning, then be driven to the meeting, spend how long, then back to the Hotel, relax, sleep, and fly out Tuesday evening.
The Guitar talks
Jim had eaten a late dinner and was relaxing on the veranda, hearing fourth rate musicians.
It was nearly ten, he thought to find his room, when he heard a guitar. To describe the music that was pouring from the strings he would have to say it was talking.
There was no singing, just the music, and it was magnificent.
He turned to see a single blue light in a corner, a man partially hidden by shadows, playing. The man was intense on what he was doing.
Jim stood, transfixed.
When the guitarist finished that song, people began applauding. The guitarist paused about fifteen seconds, began another tune.
The Guitarist played well known ballads, both local and those from abroad. He played with such talent no one breathed loudly.
The sound from the audience were gasps, as none expected to be at such a place, at such a time, and hear such music.
Jim saw his superstar and would wait until the end to offer him everything possible.
He marveled at the way the guitarist's fingers moved on the strings so artistic, so magical.
At the end of that song, everyone was standing and applauding, the light was moved, the guitarist now in darkness.
A bright spotlight on the M.C. who stood in the middle of the stage.
Jim squinted, but couldn't see the guitarist.
The M.C. was making lame jokes centre stage.
Jim couldn't see the Guitarist.
He hadn't moved towards the guests, so must have left the stage by the sea side of the veranda.
Jim Harris moved quickly, but the shore was so dark, he couldn't see anything.
He looked for the Manager. He needed to find out who the guitarist was, and how to get in touch with him.
The Manager was not helpful.
"His name is Kian and he doesn't want publicity."
"This isn't publicity, this is opportunity. I'm a producer, I..."
"You aren't the first or the last," the Manager replied, "and he won't talk to you."
"We will see...do you know where he went."
"No," the Manager replied, and moved off.
Jim was angry. He had heard one of the best guitarists ever, he would offer him more money then he could count, greater fame than imagined...and the guitarist had disappeared.
A Story for Legends
In the audience of some hotel is a major music producer. A Producer on the Island to deal with an average set of musicians.
And that Producer hears a fantastic Guitarist, and is anxious to sign him.
The guitarist can't be found and no one knows where he is?
It seemed one of those insane sci/fi Twilight Zone kind of things. But Jim wasn't giving up. He would find this Kian.
He had to wait until the next evening to to way lay this 'Kian'.
Jim had come down to the bar at 9:30 and would wait.
He asked a couple of questions and learned Kian only played at the Hotel on Friday from about 10 pm to 10:40.
Jim didn't panic.
He finished his drink and decided to alter his schedule.
He'd move his departure to Monday evening, fly back to his domain, do his work, then return to this Hotel Friday afternoon.
He'd park on the beach and wait for Kian to finish his set and then encounter him.
Unless Kian could dematerialise, Jim Harris would see him.
Trying to Catch the Magic
Jim got through the weekend, and on Monday had the meeting, (which was as odious as he expected).
He flew home, did his work and returned to the island and the Hotel by 3 p.m. on Friday.
He investigated how Kian would get onto that part of the veranda where he played, the path he could walk to avoid detection.
Why he was so focused on Kian was unknown but he wasn't a psychologist; just a music producer.
Many stars and wannabes were eccentric, (to be polite), for Kian to be in that category was a half shrug.
Jim planted himself on the beach at 9:40, expecting to see Kian.
It was extremely dark, not a single light. Jim waited, looking for movement, right and left, seeing nothing.
Then, he heard Kian playing.
How had he gotten to that point on the veranda without passing Jim?
He must have entered via the hotel.
Jim moved to be behind Kian.
He couldn't see him due to the height of the veranda. Didn't matter. He would wait here.
Jim listened to Kian play. When the light deviated, he knew Kian was on his last moments on 'stage' and would be coming.
He couldn't get too near to the veranda for if he moved East and Kian came down on the West, he was not going to catch him.
The last note had played, he thought he saw movement to the far left and hurried there.
It was so dark, but then, up ahead, walking to the hotel he saw Kian.
Jim tried to run on the lumpy sand, shouted, but by the time he reached the point of the Hotel Kian had approached, there was no one there.
This was impossible!
Here was a fantastic opportunity for an absolute nobody. Yet, Jim was never going to be able to implement it.
There was no sense in doing another of these beach games, of wasting money on the Hotel.
If Kian was too stupid to see a chance, well, nothing he could do about it.
Angrily, eating defeat, Jim made his way up to the bar, ordered a beer and looked at nothing.
He spoke to the bartender, angry about missing Kian, complaining how he was a producer ready to offer him the chance of a life time and he couldn't even get near him.
Jim Harris returned to America.
He continued his successful life, and on occasion, used the example of Kian in various conversations with 'reluctant' stars.
Sometimes he said something like;
"I was trying to give him his only shot at fame and..."
Sometimes he said something like;
"Some people want to play super spy and cut themselves out of opportunity...."
"Sometimes playing Hard to Get means you rot."
It was a few years later. Jim had virtually forgotten about Kian when he overheard a conversation in an upscale bar about a totally genius guitarist given a chance, but couldn't take fame and disappeared.
How it Is
Jim wanted to push into the conversation, ask questions, but that wasn't in his character.
He listened to the speaker describing this guitarist, going on and on, awed by the fact that fame was right there, a finger tip away.
Jim thought of Kian. How he played so magnificently, then coming off the stage, just disappeared.
Then Jim caught a glimpse of another reality, probably Kian's reality.
Maybe there was a time he was on a stage in front of hundreds and froze. Maybe he couldn't take the pressure. Maybe he didn't like the loss of privacy.
Jim realsed that Fame is not for everyone.