Billy felt like grabbing a beer and forgetting about the child's mother he had just seen, but it was impossible when the girl was so genuinely kind. That left him unsettled, weighed down with a sense of misery about himself. The opportunity, in its own way, mattered to him.
Billy gave a faint smile, his stomach turning.
—You did well… very well. You dreamed like an idiot— Jerry said. —You stumbled, and she saw that false confidence you cling to so much. But she needed it—she needed you, just as she needed your financial support. A maid will go to her house twice a week, Mondays and Thursdays, to help with cleaning. And there's a small restaurant two streets away—they'll provide breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I've already spoken to her friend; we'll cover six meals a day. It's a small price to pay for people like them—
—You think they're good people— Billy said.
Jerry looked at him closely. His old eyes held a long, steady gaze.
—Believe me, they are. Very good people. She'll raise your child, and there won't be any reproaches. She's a truly noble girl—
Fortunately for Jerry, the boy had never cared much about money.
They both walked toward the exit. A small concert awaited them in Liverpool—a major show, followed by a journey along the coast, taking them through the smaller towns of England. Wherever it was most needed—that was where the real opportunity lay, the perfect place to strike the mark.
Silence stretched between them as they got into the car, leaving the hospital behind. Merche's last glance lingered in Billy's mind—those gentle eyes, her small frame holding her baby, his son. Perhaps Gwen thought the same, but in that case, he wasn't a father—just a lover. And it seemed he had never truly considered being a father. Now it was different, and the pain became part of the way his life unfolded.
He fell asleep thinking that maybe, one day, he would take the boy's hand—when his own figure had become something legendary. What kind of life would the child have? His mother, an adventurous tattoo artist with only a few courses in tattooing and art; his father, on the other hand, a narcissistic rock singer.
…
Merche sighed, trying not to let the tears fall. Her friend squeezed her hand tightly, and that alone was enough to make her cry, along with her child. It hurt—but she knew. There was no future with a man like him.
—Was it the right decision?— Merche asked.
—A very good one. His lawyers are untouchable—my friend didn't even know what to say. Competing with them is like competing with a multinational corporation. Besides, they gave you a lot— Paula said.
—But I didn't want the money—
—I know… you wanted the boy— Paula replied. —Everything about him screams chaos. Now it almost makes me laugh. My mother used to yell at me—never with rock stars, they're the worst—
—It's always exciting when the band is about to come together— Spencer said. England's presence, once so unfamiliar, now felt vivid—the people he greeted in his later years, the music that filled his pockets with money. He was rich doing what he loved, and he never doubted that it was everything he had ever wanted. He loved it, he truly did.
You can feel the English air! Spencer almost said, stepping off the plane to feel that cold so common in the northern regions, in the east—anything but California, where he lived.
—Spencer, old man, my drumsticks are roaring— Sugar Egg said.
—Actually… they are, and I'm new— Darry Lifting said, the band's violinist, pianist, and saxophonist, brought in at Billy's request. He was a Juilliard student, a complete music nerd who had submitted his résumé by chance and ended up becoming the band's sixth member. He was young, though older than Billy—24 years old, with his whole life ahead of him. A bit reserved, just a guy in a band who loved classical music.
—When you meet Billy, don't look him in the eyes— Jack Sauce said, breaking the silence.
—Do you remember, Egg, when that guy looked him in the eyes and Billy snapped and bit his nose off? That was insane, man— Jack added.
—Yeah, I remember— Sugar Egg whispered. —Damn, the guy lost his nose. Blood was pouring everywhere, people were screaming… Billy spat the nose out and it hit a waitress in the face. Then he licked the blood and said, "It tastes like shit, I swear—like shit"—
—What— Darry let out a small, almost childlike gasp. The band burst into laughter—he was completely absorbed, horrified by the brutality of the story.
—Spencer, is that true?— Darry asked.
—Well… just don't be annoying— Spencer laughed, which made the whole band crack up even more. They were all certain Darry would never want to be alone in a room with Billy.
—Oh man, relax—that only happened once— Jack said, throwing an arm over his shoulder. Sugar Egg, always dramatic, started dancing around Darry, who now looked genuinely frightened.
In truth, it was a tour—and the recording of an album in London—while they waited for the premiere of Harry Potter. The band went wherever Mohammar spoke—and that was simply how things worked. Because then came his second premiere, one arranged entirely by Scarlett. She wanted to make another film—something that would give both of them space. The madness of the girl was that it was the first time she had been completely crazy about a man… while still unable to stop being with another woman.
—Rookie— Connor whispered with a laugh.
—It's a funny joke— Spencer murmured.
—Still feels like one of those fables that could turn real— Connor said, watching as Darry was dragged away by Sugar Egg and Jack. Both of them were ticking time bombs, each insane in their own way.
—Billy's complicated. They're just playing into the image everyone already has of him—like when he got drunk, stole a paparazzo's camera, and started taking pictures inside a bar— Spencer said.
—Yeah, he's crazy— Connor replied. —Let's just leave it at that—.
...