Even though it seemed like a complete mistake on Jerry's part to take him to a party when he had a concert in a day and a half, Billy stopped drinking alcohol for today, tempting as it was. Still, it was deafening to see them all there; somehow, the only one missing was Spencer, who had gone to bed early. The band. They were completely in their own world: some drinking alcohol, others simply choosing the path of drugs. Jack Sauce was smoking a massive joint with Connor, talking about grunge, while Sugar Egg flirted with a woman who was way out of his league. Still, he was a funny guy, always managing to make women laugh with his antics.
-Today, Billy's paying! —shouted Sugar Egg.
-Ouch. —Jack replied.
-He's going to leave me without a checkbook. —Billy commented, wrapping himself in a scarf; his throat hurt a little, it burned, but that wasn't really his problem. He got excited when it came to singing in front of bands, especially the lively ones. Los Angeles was one of the best places for that. The atmosphere everywhere gave off a vibe of calm, party, and madness that felt different in other cities. Maybe Miami and New York twisted the mood in their own way.
-You know, guys, when you really smoke, like a real man, you have to hold the smoke in your lungs for three minutes or it's a sign you're a total chicken. —Leonardo replied, making Connor and others laugh; they were all music people. The new woman clinging to his side, Bar, just rolled her eyes while the table dedicated itself to saying nonsense.
They offered one to Billy. He just shrugged it off, passing it along.
-I can't smoke. Not when I've got a concert in less than a day. —Billy replied, refusing the tempting joint from Dave Grohl, who had arrived with his band. The guy was the textbook long-haired rocker, with a fully party-driven reputation and an incredibly friendly demeanor.
-Relax. That's what guys say when they pretend to be men. Truth is, it's five minutes that make the difference between being the real deal. —Dave replied, passing the joint to Josh Homme of Queens of the Stone Age, a player who always seemed ready to turn life into a wild game.
Billy laughed, watching how everyone was completely unhinged; in every sense, their way of being was pure laughter, and it amused him in a way that wasn't particularly annoying. For that reason, and many others, they'd already been partying for nearly six hours. To Billy's surprise, Lisa Bonet found a group and danced all night, and Zoë joined her. They drank and laughed; now Zoë rested in a chair while her mother talked about esotericism or something along those lines. Fatigue weighed on their eyes and wore them down.
Billy stood up from his seat to take a shower and head to his room.
It was one of those days when he felt completely depressed. In his way of doing things, he wanted to sit down and scribble paragraphs, to do or not do. The space in his mind was one he left entirely to his own devices. To grab the bull by the horns and dedicate himself to writing everything that crossed his head, setting aside that feeling of detachment he felt every time he pushed his emotions to the limit and later rested between drinks and the empty life he lived. His mind circled only three things: women, parties, and money. From so many angles that all felt right for everything he was—and everything he wasn't.
Calmly, he left two tickets on Lisa Bonet's table and winked at her—two VIP passes—then took a long step toward the stairs to find somewhere to sleep.
His mind replayed the night, so extreme and utterly worn out, like a way of driving people crazy and giving himself an aggressive edge. He heard a reverent laugh as he stepped forward into his life.
…
March 7.
A hundred meters away, maybe fifty thousand meters from where he was. Almost a thousand meters away. Meters—or thousands of meters—the howling of the crowd could be heard. He didn't understand how, but the Bonets were there joking with Jack Sauce, alongside Leonardo DiCaprio, who was more restrained and without a girlfriend, over the noise coming from the stage.
-So you sing? —Jack asked, surprised.
-Well, not as well as others. —Lisa replied.
-I'd give anything to be a rock star. —Leonardo commented. But that was him, more showing off than anything; the guy was an actor to the core, he loved acting and worked hard to be one above anyone else around him. He took words as a careful way of bragging these days, and that didn't matter to Billy.
-Do you want to go up and sing? —Billy asked.
Leo's eyes widened, and his mouth almost fell silent.
-The thing is, no matter what you do, if you don't do it well, people are going to laugh at you. —Lisa commented, mocking and completely on brand; it was her way, she hadn't missed a chance to say premature nonsense in days.
-Don't scare him. —Billy said. —You just sing the choruses, dance around, and move across the stage. Think of yourself as an actor in a rock movie.
He smiled.
Leonardo's eyes shone with something like identity and wonder; everything else faded away, the fervent way everyone seemed to fall into place. For months now, nothing had been left to chance. Jerry wouldn't get into trouble; people would just have fun, then Dario would drop a great song, and it would be free marketing. Maybe a surprise for future singers to pull off live. In some cases, sure—but everything has its scale.
-Maybe another day, when I'm drunk enough to do it. —Leonardo commented.
-Do you really think this isn't your only chance? Because everyone wants to be part of my music. And maybe tomorrow you won't have the chance to do it in front of 90,000 people chanting your name, that adrenaline that only comes with a crowd that big, and of course, the flexibility of the production company that owes me favors for covering their greedy asses. —Billy replied, looking Leo straight in the eye, knowing firsthand that the only thing that mattered to him, as to people in general, was understanding that a simple life was the goal; risk was always the most important thing when it came time to take a chance.
-Tough words for someone who only sang in kindergarten. —Leonardo joked.
-Well, enjoy the show and the after-party; I'll be in Seattle the day after tomorrow. —Billy replied. For some time now, he knew how much he would miss Los Angeles and how much he would hate it when he left; his hands itched at the thought of the waves, skateboarding, parties until dawn, people drunk on celebration, and, of course, the memories that kept him from sleeping. He needed the warmth of a woman, someone to give him strength for the night, to keep his days from filling with nightmares.
He grabbed a bottle of water.
-What a pleasure it is for everyone. —Jack commented, shifting his bass aside.
...