For some time now, it had been taken for granted that women were a kind of celebration of time, something needed for the schemes and indulgences of living. And what could time truly offer—what images could it leave behind?
Billy needed to do so much—what else did he need?
--I don't know, it seems like this whole rock star thing is just a performance of attitude, and honestly, the media exaggerates it. Now he just sits around making a fool of himself. What kind of "character" is that—just staying in and eating greasy food with beer? - Lidia commented, a blonde woman who had hoped the pay would be enough to sustain a life of party after party, just as the rock world promised. But to her misfortune, she was left hanging in disappointment, realizing that no one seemed interested in living endlessly in excess, and her dreams of chaos slowly faded into bitterness.
—I think Billy Carson simply doesn't want to take us along —Elizabeth replied, though she preferred to be called Eli. She was one of those women drifting through time, still thinking about the wealth of a boyfriend who had left her for a French woman. Now she sought work in anything that wouldn't demand too much effort, speaking cautiously with her friends whenever she could.
--I actually think it might be a good thing. I don't want to deal with those obligations, and the places we go to are beautiful —Rosie commented, looking at the three of them. The prettiest was Lidia, but she carried a strangely ghostlike aura that made people want to walk away from the job entirely and escape to Ibiza, even if it meant fading into obscurity.
--Well, we could tempt him. I think if we push him to the edge, his room will turn into such chaos that it becomes a story worth telling. Though honestly, I hope this ends soon, and they hire younger women next time, so he completely loses control. That might be more beneficial for all of us —Lidia replied. Her beautiful green eyes shimmered as if dancing, radiating a light that refreshed the mind. And whether she admitted it or not, she had long desired to know the great film star in a far more intimate way.
The three girls then made their way outside, posing for the photos waiting for them. They needed that beauty—each photograph captured them in a way that would be printed the next day, stirring curiosity in those who read the papers.
—We have fifteen days. —Rosie said to the others. She, too, carried that quiet ambition to use Billy as a stepping stone. What could they make of it? What did it mean to truly live in time?
—So you're really going to go through with it? —one of them asked softly. She craved a wild life to fully enjoy her youth. She smiled. Lidia wanted grand parties, while Eli simply wanted to follow along and earn the time they all desired.
Even slightly dazed, Billy devoted himself to practice—playing the violin, letting time pass cleanly through discipline. He worked through Paganini's routines, took time to imitate Vivaldi, experimenting in his room before moving to the piano until his fingers grew tired. He ate three to four chicken breasts a day, six eggs daily, two pounds of grilled meat with properly prepared vegetables, and drank large amounts of water—three to four glasses per hour at times, averaging around three liters daily. He used hair masks and facial creams, maintaining himself with the rigor of someone deeply committed.
—It's true, man, the music club wants me to push myself harder —Billy commented, reflecting on how long he had been immersed in the world of music.
Jerry replied from the other end, discussing developments in the industry. The "club" was a gathering of producers in a world where money dictated everything. Rap collectives were beginning to rise, while two dominant currents remained: pop and rock. Rock, however, was guarded by an older generation that protected its legacy. Then there was disco and electronic music, drifting away from everything else.
The club functioned as a guild's backbone, a place where opportunities were preserved and distributed.
Then I think I'd like them to give me the song for the 2006 World Cup —Billy said calmly, now making demands. He wanted to be part of every major event. American football didn't interest him; he preferred the Olympics, though lately he didn't even know who to support. Instead, he attended basketball drafts, enjoying them from the front row, watching sweat and ambition shape new champions—hoping the Los Angeles Lakers would rise again after their streak in 2000, 2001, and 2002, now competing with the Detroit Pistons in a tense era.
--The Olympics, the 2006 World Cup… that's quite the combination. —Jerry remarked, recognizing the scale of both events, along with the positioning of the Turin Olympics and the rising prominence of Germany as a stage for global stars.
--Of course, there are great songs to be made —Billy said. —I'll create songs that turn the World Cup into something legendary, and that alone will put my name on everyone's lips. -
Determined to move forward, Billy made a quick decision.
--And I also want a surf campaign with Red Bull. I need to train on the beaches—what better way than becoming part of that lifestyle? —he added calmly, already imagining the visuals, embracing his own image with a certain irony.
So different from the brilliance of pure magic.
A knock sounded at the door. A moment came alive—an opportunity for something new.
—Yes, we'll talk about that later —Billy said, ending the call as he turned to see three beautiful women before him. Each of them seemed born from sweetness itself, dressed elegantly, ready to conquer the nightlife and soothe the world with the rhythm of their dance.