Many familiar faces approached from different angles. There was Billy Carson, breathing in the scent of the waves that only Los Angeles offered whenever he recalled the story of a promotion. Although he knew there wasn't much to gain, his votes were in the hands of others. He bet everything and didn't care, because that was his way of doing things—carefree. The present was always in his eyes, and the future seemed elusive, but no less important because of that.
The Staples Center was packed to the brim, while the privileged woman of the night was Queen Latifah, a brunette with beautiful eyes who had been quite the catch in her youth. Billy didn't give her a second glance; his eyes were only for Gwen Stefani. There was something so foreign, so seductive and hot about a woman who had borne a child of his manhood, unlike others, a firm sculpture. Seeing her charming body after pregnancy, their eyes met, and so much was said without words. Her eyes spoke to him later, but her soul spoke now—the heat of two beloveds.
Yet, there was one thing Billy had no doubt about this year: Norah Jones and Ray Charles were considered the best. But he only thought his songs were better. The weight of Ray's time could not compete with Billy's movement; his way of singing was hypnotic.
Since August of last year, they remained silent; no one spoke, only radio stations and their music made noise. Many believed that even without promotion, he would win at least one statuette and reach a record in the next ten years, surpassing 10 awards and hitting 11—a blow to everyone who thought he was simply a lucky rookie who had hit the mark.
Billy wore an open black dress shirt, a black suit, and his hair slicked back. His expressive eyes were highlighted with minimal eyeliner to make the green stand out in the audience, while his white vest was perhaps the highlight of the outfit.
On stage was Gwen Stefani, in a blue dress, alongside Eve—a fiery brunette—singing "Rich Girl" with power. If there's one thing to highlight about the 2000s, it's the hip hop rhythms—strong beats like a high school band's cymbals. The women, with their magnificent way of bringing life, made even the rough songs catchy.
-We had four nominations, - someone told Billy on the side. Connor looked paler than usual; the angels didn't suit him. Vices pushed him to the edge.
-That doesn't matter much, Connor. Everyone talks about Ray Charles like he did something magnificent. I mean, he wasn't bad, but it seems the press has plenty of green in their pockets,- Billy remarked.
-Damn, you're a real fool. Don't you know he's dead? -Connor whispered.
-Shit, no wonder,- Billy replied as Connor rolled his eyes.
-He died last year, buddy, and he was excellent,- Connor whispered respectfully. -A shame we didn't collaborate with him, but back then, we were on tour and you had more pressing concerns.-
Album of the year went to Ray Charles & Norah Jones, but Billy won Song of the Year with "How to Save a Life," which critics called tender, precise, nostalgic, and stimulating. The single, released in October 2004, entered the competition strong and perhaps was the highlight.
Applause. Billy clapped while Connor kept talking. Curiously, ten minutes later, Billy was called up, and he just applauded.
-Damn, we won,- Billy whispered.
-What can you do? Go and say something dumb, - Connor joked, nearly laughing.
-Well, I didn't expect to win. I mean, the song was just a single I wrote when I was sad. I recorded it in a day, and there was no choice but to release it as a single. I hope it reaches all my fans, - Billy said, looking at everyone's faces—those emotionless stares. - Well, since I'm here, they usually do thank-yous, but that doesn't matter much to me. They already work with me. But… I'll hold a contest for fans here and those watching on TV: a date with me. Actually, several dates. I'll have 50 dates—one for each state. If you're smart, maybe more than one.- He laughed.
Everyone was speechless. The silence held his proposal. Billy had just made a commercial to 20 million people, and as he spoke, the ratings rose by at least four points on average. Apparently, he was about to present some music—something new. Meanwhile, the calls rolled in, and the backstage buzz started.
A charming wink to the camera.
That fresh gesture made the women sigh. It was quick and brief as he glanced at the cameras before leaving.
-Thanks so much to everyone who participated in this single.-
He went down the stairs into a large corridor. He cared little who saw him—his unpleasant manner was what made him charming. Jerry was banging his forehead on TV. Why did he do that? A contest? A contest for a date with Billy? Then he took a breath, wondering what was on the kid's mind.
His phone rang as his manager coordinated with at least four agencies, two magazines, and a TV network.
-Well, the damn kid pulled it off again. -
Billy walked by while some people just watched him. It was the immense confidence he had in himself, doing what he thought, how organically his things came out. Almost certain that even when he didn't seem to notice, everything was part of a star persona, so deeply rooted in his bones that even if people saw him on the street, he'd stand out—at least in the U.S., where his face was known by all the young girls.
He saw Gwen talking to someone as he placed his hand on his hip. She turned but trembled, her cheeks flushed.
-Hey, great crowd,- Billy said.
-Hey, you. Congrats on winning another Grammy. How many is that now?- she asked.
-I think 11. Maybe I'll win another and have 12 or 13—or 11. I just know it was unexpected. How's your relationship? I heard things cooled off with your new baby.- Billy said.
-Yeah, that's true,- Gwen replied, though she was 15 years older than him, she looked like a schoolgirl struggling to catch her breath.
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