Billy rose lazily once again. For at least four days, he had done a magnificent job when it came to delivering a clear idea—bold, by anyone's standards. Billy had events lined up for Coachella in April, and for June in the United Kingdom. For now, he was looking for secondary roles to fill the rest of April, May, and part of June, since by late July he would be fully booked, with premieres taking place that same month—a long stretch of time for his life to make room for as much as he could accomplish.
–You need a new album, kid – said Jerry Wrexler, greeting Billy, who had been wandering around the halls of New York for two weeks, up to his usual antics. Sometimes, it was simply how he lived—two to four hours of excessive exercise, long sessions of affection with Scarlett, and all the time in the world helping her find the notes and the effect she wanted. Often, he'd spend hours reading novels that seemed to come from the hands of people he knew, books Billy would never otherwise bother to read.
–I've got a few songs in mind. I'd never give up the sharp thrill of losing money with record labels. Surely, the whole machine would collapse if I didn't earn enough for those old men to live in lust and corruption—it'd be a sin for anyone with a shred of dignity by their side – replied Billy, running through the songs in his mind, each filled with vivid colors. They seemed to assemble themselves into tunes perfectly suited for the January season—songs that, within seconds, would be imprinted in time. The upcoming albums swirling in Billy's head still carried an artistic force that felt unique, almost sacred, when it came to giving life to something new.
–Alright, I'll listen – said Jerry. –They've accepted the songs. You're the official voice of James Bond for 2006—they're making a remake that looks like it'll have a strong shot at success in the coming years. You might become more than just a singer—you could get a few acting roles too. –
–I'd like that – Billy replied.
–You'll be getting six hundred thousand dollars in royalties from the song. After taxes, the rest will go into your trust fund for when you're over forty. Use it wisely—don't waste it on alcohol – Jerry advised.
–I'll be at Coachella and Live 8 – Billy answered.
–Good. That's what you should do—take every opportunity. Fame is one of a great musician's main tools. A talented man who uses his fame for good—that's magnificent. People tend to forget it quickly nowadays, but only the greats endure in people's hearts – said Jerry.
He was already thinking about the MTV Awards—perhaps even Lollapalooza. But that was still far away, distant in both time and feeling. It was as if the next songs that would come from Billy's lips were destined to be powerful and elevated—works people would fall in love with, calling them the next great album, the next revelation.
–The girl's album is almost ready – said Jerry.
–Good, just make it the best you can—nothing more to say – replied Billy, who had long been one of the key figures in any media circle.
–No doubt, it's a great piece of work. Warner's getting ready and moving its pieces. Your entrance into film is shaping up nicely – said Jerry. –Every project's been a hit, from King Kong to Harry Potter. Each of them holds a space that you can embrace artistically whenever you choose to make something more eccentric. –
–Well, you've got time for a few roles – said Jerry.
–I'd like that – said Billy, his eyes gleaming. –What do we have? What roles are we missing? –
–I've got two that might interest you. One's more realistic—about a drug trafficker, shooting starts in three weeks. The other begins in about ten days; most of the dialogue's already recorded, and I think you'd fit perfectly. They want the "vase type" guy in both, but with a twist. In one, you'd be the completely crazy guy; in the other, the funny one with good intentions – said Jerry.
–Let's do it – Billy laughed.
Billy chuckled as the old man, as usual, ordered some food. He had been sharing meals with Jerry for months now—strong beer always at the table. Jerry was what you'd call addicted to drinking with food; he loved dedicating himself to eating.
–A good drink to rest forever—that's the art of people – said Jerry, taking a sip that left foam on his white mustache. Both of them started talking about the beautiful model who had sent nude photos by mail. The old man laughed, reminiscing about the beauties of the '80s.
They agreed on two things: first, that women of that era were stunning in their own way—always ready to do whatever they wanted. They'd party all night and still show up to work; the party was a real party, and everyone had fun. It was all celebration, from beginning to end.
The newspaper photos, edited by studios, created demand for new shoots. Agencies would send their own people behind the scenes to stir up the media—and when it worked, it was fantastic for business. Money flowed, budgets came alive, and when the artist understood that, everyone was happy.
–They go for thirty to forty dollars each—you sell and sell, it's easy for anyone – said Billy, talking about ticket prices. He'd long known the value of an admission ticket. For months, there had been talk about pricing—sales were sensitive when it came to rock fans. Devoted followers barely earned enough, traveling across the country, and a pricey ticket could cause frustration for anyone.
–We won't push it. We'll just relax and take it easy – said Jerry.
–Alcohol, and a bit of sales –
–Sales were banned – said Billy, not realizing that the year before, alcohol sales had been prohibited at his concerts after a fiasco in Nevada, where the party spiraled out of control. Drinks had been restricted because of underage consumption.
–What the hell happened for them to ban sales? – said Billy, a little incredulous.
–Underage sales, that's what. Either that, or ban minors from entering. We've got a limit of sixteen, but it's not twenty-one—it's the same old issue – answered Jerry.
–Make special zones – said Billy.
–We do, but they're strict with us – said Jerry.
–Do they hate us or what? – asked the boy.
–They hate all rockers. They prefer pop girls—simpler fans, no controversial content, no nudity, no drugs, no reckless behavior – said Jerry, who had long known that, over time, performances could go one of two ways: some people would imitate Billy's wild side, while others would grow up and get bored. Many still waved their lights and repeated the same gestures, even as the years went by.
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