Whenever he stepped into a concert, his mind tunneled into a place where he couldn't tell—anywhere—whether his next great story should be an epic or a tragedy. All he knew for sure was that, by channeling his emotions, he could leave a mark on people. His only wish was to always win over an audience that was notoriously hard to please—so hard, in fact, that even when he wanted to take a breath, the atmosphere just a few steps away pulled him back in. Thousands of people had gathered at the Maracanã Stadium, with a capacity of 80,000, yet at least 100,000 were there, all to see him.
A weight pressed down on his shoulders—word of mouth, the kind that lets people taste just enough of something to keep them hooked. Tickets sold out. Dead rock reborn. An angel's voice paired with a strange demeanor. Billy had little awareness of his fame or his impact; he was too caught up in dreams to notice the elaborate maneuvers Michael Ocklars and Jerry pulled to fend off the vile life that haunts the famous.
A bubble. But to others, he was just a foolish boy wielding far too much power for such a harsh world. Sometimes that let him drift and do whatever he pleased. A lifetime of goodness can be undone the moment someone tastes the lure of vice, letting reality crush them—being older didn't make him stronger.
-You seem thoughtful, - Adriana remarked.
-I was thinking about my singing. I have to perform in two languages, and when I do, sometimes the cues seem to disconnect. It happens when the songs are harder than I expect—one piece can have several rises and falls. Spencer is often strict about the harmonies, but even then, it's hard to catch the signs if I don't calm myself first, - Billy replied, locking eyes with her as he leaned in for a kiss. She turned her face away, but Billy took her gently and kissed her long and deep. They stayed together for a moment.
Two knocks.
-We're on in ten minutes.-
His eyebrows rose at the news.
-Careful—you have to sing, - she said primly, always the wall she put between herself and everyone else. A silence that said, "Back off, this space is mine," and would remain so for years to come.
-Who can surrender when a woman tells you it's time to turn your back?- Billy mused.
He had long known the interference of her nature.
-MTV's here tonight—since it's one of the biggest crowds, they're hoping to capture a slice of the performance from start to finish, - Billy said, taking a long drink of water. - I think I'll do something special. Don't miss it—close your eyes and listen to my music. I want you to feel it. Recently, I tried to find something that matched your beauty, and the only thing I could find was a replica approved by the Met. It's silly, but I paid for the best, and I want you to have it. It's Ophelia—it reminds me that every time I look into your eyes, I lose myself in a forest. -
Billy finished the bottle in one gulp, a drop trailing from his mouth to his chest. She watched every movement as the canvas was brought forward. In fact, Billy had bought two replicas on a whim, at $10,000 each. He would fill the place with art if he wished—it didn't matter. He'd buy whatever was needed.
…
The first song was a punch to the chest for anyone who stopped for a second. A classic, though long forgotten, it would now be a source of joy in Rio de Janeiro. A calculated move—Warner released live albums from every concert, with at least two hundred thousand copies sold.
🎶🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎶
I did my best to notice
When the call came down the line
Up to the platform of surrender
I was brought, but I was kind
And sometimes I get nervous
When I see an open door
Close your eyes
Clear your heart
Cut the cord
Are we human
Or are we dancer?
My sign is vital
🎶🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎶
With his eyes closed before the crowd, facing thousands, his voice hit like a subliminal message. Each blink was a revolver firing a thousand images, each one striking emotions dead-on. Everyone tried to cling to some small thought to avoid being swept away by the torrent—images of a man falling from the moon to Earth, where everything was unknown; seeing the world and realizing how small it was, with such joy; a vision of the road yet to be traveled. Every word was a flare, feeding calm and rock alike, filling hearts and making bodies move.
He fed off those reactions so no one would be left behind, raising the pitch, charting a path and finding purpose—even when the fear of moving forward still felt alive.
🎶🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎶
My hands are cold
And I'm on my knees
Looking for the answer
Are we human
Or are we dancer?
Pay my respects to grace and virtue
Send my condolences to good
Give my regards to soul and romance
They always did the best they could
And so long to devotion
You taught me everything I know
Wave goodbye
Wish me well
You've gotta let me go
🎶🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎶
The audience mumbled along, not yet ready to sing every word, but he could see glimpses—some knew his songs. It filled his soul.
A sigh, and he gave his all to wake people with joy, flooding the stadium with happiness. A crowd so cheerful and ready to dance followed him, and everything flowed.
🎶🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎶
Are we human
Or are we dancer?
My sign is vital
My hands are cold
And I'm on my knees
Looking for the answer
Are we human
Or are we dancer?
Will your system be alright
When you dream of home tonight?
There is no message we're receiving
Let me know, is your heart still beating?
🎶🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎶
He followed joy with something softer, lowering the dopamine levels to something called nostalgia, that bittersweet feeling that helps one embrace fortune and adapt to the negativity that can become a steady companion.
A companion that, in the coming years, could be as sustaining as a day in the sun.
🎶🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎶
Are we human
Or are we dancer?
My sign is vital
My hands are cold
And I'm on my knees
Looking for the answer
You've gotta let me know
Are we human
Or are we dancer?
My sign is vital
My hands are cold
And I'm on my knees
Looking for the answer
Are we human
Or are we dancer?
Are we human
Or are we dancer?
Are we human
Or are we dancer?
🎶🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎶
Billy's words reached all the way to the core.
…
MTV recorded the performance live. From England, Scarlett watched the scenes—scenes that, with calm indifference, washed over thousands. His mastery of the crowd and the stage, that ability to connect, was as crucial as an actor's skill at inhabiting a role.
-Anyone can sing,- the blonde murmured.
For now, she was filming a movie that would draw attention for its style, with Woody Allen at the helm, who considered her his muse. It was possible that, in the years to come, this would remain etched in people's memories.
...