whim.

May 8.

Taking a deep breath and with frustration, the new album was released. What's the problem? Now that it's selling, a new album with profits should make the people at the top happy. But it's the opposite—they're demanding a tour, numerous concerts, and interviews where he has to talk to people who just want to do whatever they please.

He has to work on promoting the album, receiving critiques from so-called experts. The best songs given to him have been slammed as empty, banal, and bad—the criticism is relentless and never-ending.

-I have to work! Even now, old man, I've been doing the military training you've forced on me for ages, - Billy complained over the phone.

-Well, it's a good opportunity for you to sing the new songs or the old ones. Do whatever you want, - Jerry replied calmly, though a bit harsher than usual. Curiously, he was at a family gathering. Jerry, a businessman, didn't usually raise his voice, but Billy was special to the Wrexler family. Three marriages, three kids, and though it might not seem like it, Jerry had a tacit friendship with his ex-wives.

-What a joke, with you and your money. Haven't we earned enough already? Why should I keep going to pointless events? Give me a break. Good things take time—I'm not a soda to be sold in bulk, - Billy shouted.

-We've served you well, and we've accommodated your new ventures into acting, - Jerry retorted.

-Do you even hear yourself? You're not my father, nor my owner... Stop acting so condescending. I'm not an idiot—I've read the contract. It mentions a certain number of tours and albums. If I decide to stop working and only fulfill the bare minimum, you'll make less money, and I couldn't care less what those bloodsuckers think. Some clauses prevent me from going to jail, but they don't stop me from doing other things. Don't push me, - Billy replied coldly.

-Ungrateful brat, you're arguing with me over one thing. Tell me, what do you want? Don't think I'll fall for your 'I'm just a product' nonsense. Did you do something, or is there something you want? Just tell me already—I don't have the patience! - Jerry shouted.

Billy smiled like a cat.

-Well, Avril's coming to London. You can coordinate with her agency. I'd like to sing with her at the concert, and of course, she'll stay until my birthday. I might even get a tattoo... Yeah, I get it. I love you, Jerry. I wouldn't do anything without your consent, - Billy responded, his demeanor suddenly softening. The once hard-edged boy showed his teeth in a sly grin. He didn't mention to Jerry that he had adopted a dog—a pit bull terrier, no less. But by tomorrow, Billy would be all over the news, seen cuddling a pit bull puppy and saying he'd take it home.

Later on, it would be Jerry and Jean who ended up caring for the dog, because Billy, well, he simply had no sense of responsibility.

Jerry took a breath but didn't comment further.

-Fine, but make it a good tattoo. I don't want anything on your face, neck, wrists, hands, or feet. Once you finish recording, come to New York. Jean wants to see you, and she's worried—you haven't called her, - Jerry replied.

-No problem, old man... I'll take Jean to the Harry Potter premiere as my date, - Billy said. Both men nodded.

Billy hung up the phone.

-I think he always does that to get your attention, dear, - Jean remarked, lightening the mood.

-I never would've guessed the great Billy Carson could be so childish. On stage, he's like holy fire, burning everyone with his captivating energy, but if his fans could hear him now... I don't know what to say, - Ricky Wrexler commented. He had a good relationship with Jerry but got along even better with his older brother Cameron, all sons of different mothers.

-Brother, Billy's a bit of a fool. You shouldn't be surprised. He just has a special bond with Dad, - Cameron Wrexler, son of Shirley Kamps, chimed in.

-Well... strangely, he's so spoiled, - Ricky remarked.

-An orphan at 15, with no family... a shaky moral compass. When I met him, his knuckles were red and his face was covered in bruises. He's an aggressive kid, always looking for a fight and causing trouble. Property damage, theft, robbery, and assault on a police officer—those were the charges on his record. I consider it a win that he graduated high school, even without honors. He hasn't gotten anyone pregnant or fallen into drugs, - Jerry said, swallowing hard. - But we have to take care of him. He's more sensitive than he looks. Being part of this family, he may seem strong, confident, and capable, but he's scared. We all need to understand him and protect him. He doesn't know how to handle money, let alone comprehend business, and he lives in a fantasy... but he's so lovable. He's sweet, thoughtful, generous, and charismatic. –

The room fell silent... harsh words for someone so young; Billy was quite a handful.

-Okay, Dad, we'll do it… but why was there a fight… which concert does he not want to attend? - Ricky asked.

***

-Do you think it's right to argue like that with your agent? - Avril commented, her large green eyes were like two lagoons, illuminated by blue stars, flecked with shades of green over an emerald field, glowing with the intensity of light in the darkness.

Billy rested his hand on his chin.

-Which concert does he want you to attend? - Avril asked.

-The Rolling Stones at Wembley Arena, - the boy replied.

-Wait, so you yelled at your agent because he got you an opening to perform with the Rolling Stones? Why would you do that? Do you know how everyone would give anything for that opportunity? - Avril responded, bewildered.

-I know. -

-No, you don't, - the girl retorted.

-Jerry is just Jerry. For now, let's go sing in Manchester. It's the same date the Rolling Stones are performing at Wembley Arena. You could be my backup singer and add that melancholic touch. Didn't you hear me? I argued to get you to sing with me, - Billy explained. Avril was left speechless; things were turning out more unpredictable than she had anticipated… should she ask for permission?

-It's tomorrow… you're crazy, Billy. I haven't even practiced your songs. I don't think I can do it! - Avril said, somewhat disheartened.

-Come on, darling, you'll do great. You're the most talented female singer of this decade. I even think it's crazy that you haven't won a Grammy; those old-timers must be doing something wrong… you're a complete genius. - Billy responded, pulling Avril close, and lifting her off the ground as he spun her around.

-Put me down, - Avril said.

-Sing with me; I can't see anyone who could do it better. The old-timers want me to open, and Wembley is their home; they can do whatever they want… and they want me to play for an hour. Doesn't that sound great? - Billy said, still holding Avril.

It was astonishing how, just moments ago, he had been yelling about being forced into a concert with the Rolling Stones, and now he was inviting her to perform as a supporting act for a concert that many would give their lives to participate in. She simply smiled, as his crooked teeth flashed a grin.

-Our flight is in the morning, - Billy said, stretching his body. - Let's go to sleep. -

-We won't be sleeping together, - Avril replied. It sounded sexual, but it was the opposite; they had developed the habit of sleeping embraced at night, with Avril resting her head on his chest.

-Why not? If you don't sleep with me, I'll sing poorly tomorrow. I need you to rest perfectly… don't do this to me today, - Billy said, removing his shirt and ignoring Avril's words, arranging the bed for both of them while turning on the TV and dimming the lights. Avril argued a bit until she was gently led into Billy's arms, who carefully brushed her hair, and whispered promises, and soothing words while kissing her forehead. Billy, who had had a hectic week, fell asleep instantly. She watched his sleeping face, tracing her fingers along his eyebrows. Stroking his hair, she closed her eyes, and after a while, a smile appeared on her face.

...