For several months, Billy had dreamed of being a famous man who could create art. That's why he thought about learning to write, and now he also wants to become a great actor. Famous writers were about to give him lessons. If that was the case, he was confident in his writing skills—he could create thousands of poems, list them, and sell his poetry book, gifting copies to his fans and some of his friends.
He was also completely sure that when and how things happen, you just have to reset your mind and try not to focus on short-term or flashy steps for the upcoming year. He took a deep breath, saw the audience energized by his music, nodded, grabbed a quick fortune, and headed for the exit while thinking about delicious food. He craved a good meal—a fine chicken dish. He wanted chicken, even though it bothered him a lot that he had to attend the official Grammy after-party, wherever it might be, gladly.
-I can understand the favor and the desire, but today you did really well. It was amazing how you hit the drum at just the right moments, - Spencer said, walking alongside Billy. Mostly, he took pleasure in seeing how the kid completely broke through and hit the target—that thing called music.
-What are you talking about? - Billy asked.
-That music isn't a trivial thing. It's simply doing what someone has to do. Art often feels like a game. But when someone truly commits to creating art, and that art seems to take people places they can't reach, that's when something like this happens. You left them stunned. I saw the expressions on their faces, the passion reflected in their eyes—almost like a brilliant life process, - Spencer said. For some time now, money no longer mattered to him for simple reasons: first, every time Billy made a good song, it revived his own love for music.
-I'm glad you liked it. I felt particularly inspired. Sometimes, I don't even recognize myself. You know, I think it's because I thought I was useless, and well, you see… I also wanted to impress the girls. So I think that's my mood. When I'm upset, I can sing some songs; when I'm sad, I can't sing certain others; and when I'm happy, it's the same, - Billy whispered, fully aware of the inconsistencies that always plagued his nature—how so many times he thought about being with beautiful women or impressing people he barely remembered.
One step, or one hour.
-Particularly difficult,- Spencer shrugged, sure it's hard to understand—the kid's eyes, his rebellion, and arrogance.
…
The record was at a place people could reach. Billy kissed Gwen Stefani; her lips were cherries, and for a long time, he liked her confidently and memorably, with strength or need. Unlike any other, like Scarlett, who always acted like a lovestruck girl—which was wonderful—an ironic detail was that good women always bored him, but with Gwen, it was the spice: her bluntness, her flat and bleak view of life, something he could identify with on any occasion.
-It might be difficult anywhere; my husband takes care of the kids, - Gwen said. - But… -
Not dismissing the discomfort, since she began kissing Billy's lips passionately, the immoral relationship, from different points of view, and how each carried their life with the will to start a spiral.
-There's something sexy about getting you pregnant—when you raise one of my kids, and another does it in my place. At least our kids will have charm. Just don't let them become spoiled brats,- Billy whispered. For almost fifteen minutes, their passionate, pampered sex in a private salon bathroom felt like they both disappeared, forgetting in the heat the transgressive truth.
-You're a damn miserable man,- Gwen said, wanting to push him away, but he pulled her closer, sinking deeper, delivering a small blow filled with pain and grandeur. No denial or formality.
-Shut up. You're miserable, and you come to me to feel happy, - Billy said, pushing her to the edge, to the point where the pain hammered her, and it was taken as either a game or foolishness.
-Idiot, - she whispered, feeling then the hot, blossoming blow that passed beside her. She was calculating the moment she'd reject him, but felt so full. The pleasure was too good to resist; her heart jumped like a star, and her movement sent electric jolts through her body, full of character and grandeur.
Both reached the moment when their sweaty bodies met.
-So that's what I needed, - Gwen sighed, knowing nothing compared.
They went for another round, and another, until their bodies were exhausted and bruised from the force with which they hit each other. The pain of being taken by agreement, pushed to the limit, was made with serious feeling—the pain of not seeing love in people. And then she understood the difficulties of being caught by the horns.
-Was it a mistake for us to come back or not?- Gwen asked. - My marriage is good, and stop saying those things. Maybe there are cameras—better to keep this for when nothing ineffective is around.-
-Maybe something just happens. With me, the famous consequences tend to be severely consistent,- Billy said, fixing his clothes. She adjusted her dress and wiped her lips, sure of the problem.
They both stepped out, only to be caught by Alicia Keys, wearing a golden dress with black straps—well-loved or well denied, it filled them to the limit, every relationship.
-You two… -
-Want a pass? - Billy asked with a smile.
-For what… -
-You know, you came for the 'dust.' Connor sent you; he always lets something slip, - Billy said.
-I don't… I want to use the bathroom. -
-Well, I can understand that, - Gwen said. - I didn't know you tried that. -
-Everyone does.-
...