Desire is not strong

The performance ended.

There were still not many guests in the bar, only nine tables occupied, making the area in front of the stage appear empty and never quite lively, not to mention any cheers. Neil and Janice whistled and hooted, but the other guests seemed much more reserved.

However, Renly felt completely relaxed, without any particular pressure. This atmosphere made him enjoy himself even more. The song "Los Angeles" he just performed was indeed a casual tune he wrote, with simple guitar chords and lyrics that were merely recent musings, like a piece of prose, making the performance naturally easy and carefree.

As he stepped off the stage, Renly immediately saw Ed. With the guitar slung over his back, Ed clapped his hands like a seal, his eyes shining with excitement and anticipation. Seeing Renly come down, Ed became even more excited, clapping more intensely with a broad smile, looking like a loyal and fervent fan.

This sight made Renly laugh quietly. He set his guitar aside and said, "Anyone who doesn't know might think you're a die-hard fan."

The tease made Ed shy and awkward, which only made Renly's smile brighter. He patted Ed's shoulder, "Come on, let's go have a drink at the bar."

Renly and Ed headed towards the bar. Knocking on the bar counter, Renly smiled and said, "Neil, two beers, please."

"Tonight's performance was great. It's going to be a hit on YouTube again," Neil bragged as he opened the beer keg and started pouring, evidently having recorded the performance, which made Renly shake his head helplessly. He joked, "Let's hope it hits a new high in views," making both Neil and Ed laugh.

"Renly, Renly." Stanley hurried over from the back, patting Renly's shoulder, "Come on, there's an old friend who wants to meet you."

Renly looked at the still unfinished beers and told Ed, "Give me five minutes." Then he walked with Stanley. "Who's the old friend?" Although Renly hadn't stayed long at the Pioneer Village, he had gotten to know quite a few of the bar's regulars, so it wasn't unusual to greet familiar faces whenever he returned.

"You'll know when you see him," Stanley replied, keeping the mystery, which piqued Renly's curiosity even more.

"Hey, George, how's tonight's performance? Everything good?" Stanley greeted skillfully. Renly took a moment to scrutinize the elderly man before him, a completely unfamiliar face.

The man had neatly trimmed white whiskers, silver hair meticulously styled, his sideburns following his cheeks in an orderly manner. Dressed in a dark gray pinstripe suit with a light gray shirt, his impeccable appearance exuded an aura of authority, catching people's eyes. His dignified expression carried the kind of gravitas and aloofness only professionals possessed, a silent but potent intimidation.

In Renly's memory, this was the first time meeting such a face. Even with thousands of patrons at Pioneer Village, someone with such a unique presence would be unforgettable, implying that this person was likely not a regular. Reflecting on Stanley's earlier reference to "an old friend," Renly's curiosity deepened.

Without rushing to speak, Renly sat beside Stanley. "Were all those songs you performed just now your own creations?" The elderly man ignored Stanley's greeting, raising his chin slightly to question Renly directly. His condescending tone carried an inherent arrogance, with an underlying challenge.

This abrupt question took Renly by surprise. He raised an eyebrow and looked at Stanley for an explanation. Stanley, however, just smiled without any surprise, prompting Renly to return his gaze to the elderly man's scrutinizing eyes. "Who's asking?"

"I'm asking." The man responded firmly, his imposing manner even stronger.

Renly wasn't flustered but smiled instead. "This 'I' must have a name, right?" In aristocratic circles, facing such condescending attitudes was common. Everyone upheld their noble pride, never easily compromising.

"That depends on whether you're qualified to know," the man retorted, maintaining his domineering stance.

Renly spread his hands lightly, "Then I guess I'm not qualified." With that, he prepared to leave, his decisive manner startling George—used to people seeking his approval, he found Renly's indifferent attitude genuinely puzzling.

Stanley seemed to have anticipated this outcome. He quickly grabbed Renly's left hand. "Young man, no need to rush, right?" If Renly were easily swayed, Stanley wouldn't have gone through all this trouble. He deliberately hadn't mediated the tension, wanting to see a head-to-head clash. Predictably, it ended in a standoff.

"George, this is Renly. Renly, this is George." Stanley sighed. "Can't you two just introduce yourselves calmly? It's basic courtesy, even for strangers, right?" He looked at both men, who showed no sign of yielding, forcing Stanley to intervene again. "George, Renly is an actor. He was in 'The Pacific'..."

Stanley knew Renly well, understanding that Renly's interest in music was purely recreational. So if he told Renly that George was a renowned record producer who had worked with legends like Bob Dylan, Johnny Cash, and Joan Baez, though recently semi-retired, his industry stature remained unchallenged, it wouldn't impress Renly. On the contrary, it might reveal Stanley's intentions.

Stanley had no choice but to try and persuade the stubborn old man.

As expected, before Stanley could continue, George frowned and interrupted impatiently, "An actor? You must be joking. You're a singer, a talented one, trying to be a mere actor? I can bet your acting is terrible."

Renly couldn't help but chuckle, "If that's your way of complimenting, I can bet you don't have many friends left."

The retort hit George hard—because it was true. His notorious temper had left him with few friends but many enemies. Of course, both the music and film industries were pragmatic. If you could drive sales and wield influence, your authority was respected, regardless of temperament.

"If they're merely sycophants, they're not worth keeping," George retorted, unwilling to back down.

Renly nodded slightly, "We finally agree on something." He then shifted the topic, "But I guess that's our only agreement."

Seeing the conversation breaking down again, Stanley interjected, "George, can you get to the point?"

Hearing this, George realized the short confrontation revealed much about Renly's character. Continuing this hard stance might make him miss out on a potential talent. "I'm George Slender. I want to produce an album for you! I believe you have the potential to create a classic album with just a bit of fine-tuning! I'm excited already!"

Having retired for three years, George had lost the drive to work again. But now, he was eager, ready to hit the studio that very night.

"Oh, thank you for your appreciation," Renly said meaningfully, glancing at Stanley—finally understanding Stanley's plan. Today's performance and the delayed schedule were all for this. Stanley looked back innocently, standing his ground. Renly didn't hold it against him and turned back to George, "But I'm not interested."

George's voice caught in his throat, "What?" He thought he misheard.

Renly shrugged, "I'm not interested."

Renly was generally open to new challenges. After experiencing the recording at Sound City and Heather's dream, entering a studio to complete an album didn't seem far-fetched, akin to his upcoming skydiving challenge.

But not in George's condescending manner. That imperious, superior attitude was no way to start a partnership.

George's brows furrowed tightly, "Do you know who I am? I produced albums for Bob Dylan. I think you could be the next Bob, though you're far from it now, but with time..."

Renly pursed his lips, "I can see you're a seasoned professional. That's a good thing."

His indifferent attitude seemed to say, "Good for you, but it's irrelevant to me," leaving George stumped again. George turned to Stanley, puzzled: What's wrong with this kid? Didn't you call me here to evaluate him? Why is he so arrogant?

Stanley was both pleased and troubled. Pleased that George saw Renly's talent, validating his own judgment; troubled because their first encounter had no room for compromise. What should he do next?