The dismissive analysis a common person might offer would simply be to continue with his systematic study of music. It didn't matter that he saw the three women in their short dresses, their eager gazes, their dreams of capturing a moment forever—he simply let them walk in, while the clean, perfumed scent of the hotel left a fresh trace of Chanel lingering in his room.
--Take us out to party. - Lidia said. She was beautiful, even compared to Rosie; both of them, at that age, were jewels—precious sapphires radiating the seductive power of a woman who gently brushed against the ideal of a girl, a young woman eager to live that fleeting moment of youth she imagined would define the rest of her life.
--We can go, no doubt about that, but you should know that a party in Cambridge isn't exactly something I'm familiar with, and unfortunately, I don't see many people truly eager on a Tuesday night. - Billy replied, choosing the realistic way out, the explanation that perhaps a party was entirely out of the question for a day like this. Still, he was met with resistance, a refusal to stay in the hotel while he played the violin, and that only made him laugh at the childishness of it all. How oddly romantic it felt to give in, to allow the next five days to unfold.
Grabbing a shirt, he made a quick call to get them into a nightclub. The best way to arrive was always with presence—after so many days, he knew that the only way to transform something was to enter it with force. They stepped into the club together, the three women trailing behind him. It had been expected that the place would be nearly empty, yet enjoying what little remained was more than enough for Billy.
The arrival of flashing cameras was brilliant and pleasing for the press, always hungry for something to shake the world. How beautiful, how glorious it was to be chased by everyone. How radiant those months of life were, how bright the eager girls moving under the neon lights, the flashes and colors pulsing with energy. They played two of his songs; he bought drinks for everyone, invited another group of girls over, while others drank freely. He, meanwhile, sipped water calmly, watching how the women grew more excited with each dance. It was all about stepping into the moment. He danced, did what he could, drawing on steps he remembered from older times—times when everything was nothing more than a simple ambition shaped by time.
She moved closer, almost as if tempted to taste forbidden fruit, and despite the distance between them, everything seemed to dissolve into the beauty of forgetfulness and the embodiment of time itself. Billy wanted to leave the party at three in the morning. He wasn't drunk, not really, but that restless idea lingered in his mind. He tried to walk away, yet couldn't shake the festive imprint left behind. Now his body leaned toward Lidia, who responded with soft whispers about love. He wanted to kiss her, but they turned away, and she pretended nothing had happened. Yet her large eyes glowed like fireflies, lighting the night, while romantic moments stirred quiet jealousy in Elizabeth, who watched from behind with innocent eyes. It was a silent rivalry between three women. Rosie, for her part, wasn't the type to initiate anything.
Round after round was ordered, and eventually, Billy had a few drinks. By dawn, they were all exhausted. The cigarette ash clung to his hair, his clothes, even his nose. He hated being a passive smoker. What an irritating, persistent discomfort it was in his mind.
--Well, it's time to go, we've got a bus in five hours. —Billy smiled. -- Let's get breakfast, we need breakfast—everything, we need a bit of everything. --
—Now that was a real party. —Lidia said.
—I think you'll understand—Liverpool might give us something better, maybe Manchester too, somewhere our lives can truly unravel, invite some friends who might—or might not—ease this collegiate party situation—
Among their goals, Lidia wanted to live entirely for the party, Rosie wanted to succeed as a model and saw this as a chance to build connections, while Elizabeth simply wanted enough to live a quiet life without worrying about the inevitable passage of time. Her father was a wealthy man who hoped his daughter would eventually settle down.
The girls' eyes lit up as they learned Billy's tastes. It was a shame that at that hour nothing was open, and by noon, perhaps only then would the city's finest restaurants begin to wake. Unlike where they were, people there ate breakfast sober—and a group of models even more so.
They found a small café that served three bowls of English broth—a rich soup with lamb, onion, carrots, and herbs—accompanied by various breads: croissants, rye bread, and carrot cake. Billy practically emptied the pantry, forcing the baker to prepare two more batches of bread. There were sausages, beans, tomatoes, and French toast—a breakfast fit for ten people.
Billy didn't stop eating. His caloric intake was double that of a normal person, and it was hard for him to gain weight; his build remained lean even while eating triple portions. That was simply his reality.
He paid without hesitation, leaving 200 pounds on the table, offering a warm smile to everyone. Soon after, they were picked up—the large tour bus now waiting for them.
...
It wasn't long before Billy took a deep breath, realizing he needed rest, a moment to reclaim himself. Unlike before, he paused—truly paused—for a meaningful stretch of life.
—I think we can make some room —Michael Oklars commented.
--The tour is scheduled for late May, and we have some flexibility now that the Harry Potter premiere bought us time. The main actors have been on a global press tour since February, while also preparing to begin filming that Greek warriors movie. -- he added with a steady tone, calculating what could be done, what could connect, what could shine. Billy was at the center of everything, and Michael was undeniably the serious one.
He glanced at Billy's new girls—though Billy himself was still young in his own way. At twenty-nine, under the weight of his father's expectations, Michael lived a life worn by effort. It was everything he had always dreamed of.
--Elizabeth. —the girl whispered, never wanting to impose, always carrying that innocent gaze, staying quietly within her place in time.
—What a way. —Michael replied, waiting for the approaching moment to become a single spark of curiosity. In the distance, Billy leaned into the music, delivering each note with indescribable intensity. Watching him practice was something else entirely.
Powerful is the voice, and powerful is time. The Doors became a cradle of knowledge for Billy—from the piano, the guitar, the entrances—everything they shared was sometimes given with such depth that its power seemed to rise higher and higher.
Subtle, yet undeniable, his talent was taking shape into something greater. How remarkable that dual current was. When things were refined, when sleeves were rolled up, when the chance appeared to correct the smallest mistakes of youth—he wanted to see every step, to polish the vinyl, to cleanse the wear of years and the weight of countless attempts.