The plan was simple: to do a few tours with Scarlett, attending small events and giving people a glimpse of what they longed for—just a few minutes of Billy and a few minutes of Scarlett. The trip was meant to be fun, carefree. While they traveled, a camera recorded them—Billy's idea—as Scarlett's figure came fully into frame: her generous bust, her wide hips, and the effortless grace with which any outfit suited her.
–Come on, smile, sweetheart –said Billy, turning the camera in his hands.
–Only if you do what I ask –Scarlett replied, laughing.
–That's easy. Just remember, when you do, people will envy you. It's my fault for being this handsome –he said, pulling out a sleeveless shirt and black pants. Then, performing the Grease dance, he moved like someone born for the American rhythm. Anyone denying it—or claiming otherwise—had to admit, deep down, it was a great song.
I got chills, they're multiplying.
And I'm losing control
'Cause the power you're supplying
It's electrifying (electrifying)
–Hahahahaha, you're such an idiot –the blonde replied, completely caught in the magic and ridiculousness of the moment, unable to hold back her laughter.
–It's simple, anyone who says otherwise should know—you don't play games with me. I'm better than Travolta –Billy replied.
–Not that again –
–It's true, darling, come with me –Billy said, continuing the song as best as he could, moving closer, wrapping around her, back and forth, hands on his pants, dancing with energy. Everything was filmed on a professional camera for Billy's vlog.
…
–Breathe in the sweet New Jersey air, the one and only Jersey –Billy said, inhaling deeply under his baseball cap. His hair had started to grow again, perfectly timed for 300—the movie of half-naked Greeks coming next season. Billy's keen eye for art gave him an edge in choosing what truly mattered.
–It's great. We could hit the casino in Atlantic City and show people what real gambling looks like –Billy added.
–I want to try one of those street food stalls you keep talking about –Scarlett said.
–That's exactly what I had in mind –Billy replied, signaling to his crew as they unloaded two motorcycles from the large truck—one for him and Scarlett, the other for his security detail. Each bike had only the essentials.
–I missed riding –Scarlett said as he handed her a helmet. –The last time I did, I missed my flight and ended up in a relationship. –She wore only a sleeveless top and now slipped into a leather jacket. She looked every bit the biker—not flashy, but like she was born for it.
She climbed on, gripping tightly. Maybe she was nervous, but Billy took off. After a half-hour ride, they arrived at the bars, the street food stalls, and the beach. Being a star, Billy understood something: connection. It's easy to make people go wild when you know how. People respond to the right triggers—and when you master them, nothing else matters.
It was striking how they arrived. Billy wore a bandana that covered most of his hair, though a few locks slipped free—it suited him. He handed Scarlett a gold Cuban chain, putting one on himself as she adjusted her dress.
–What do you want? –Billy asked.
–Some of that Chinese rice –she said, pointing at a food stand. Relaxed, she walked like a casual tourist, not caring about stares. They looked like a perfect couple, turning heads everywhere. The biker outfits and his untamed look made some doubt if it was really Billy—but he just waved back casually, as if it were another day in the park. The beauty by his side, with her bright eyes, made people hesitate whether to approach or stay back.
–One plate to share, my friend, and two beers –Billy said, handing over a folded ten-dollar bill from an old wallet in his right pocket, his words carrying a Brooklyn accent. The man shouted an order; a girl stirred the rice, added sweet chicken, and handed them two cans of beer. They ate from a plastic container on a set of stairs, chatting about eating insects.
–I think I'd be scared to poison myself with some of that stuff. I mean, a tarantula? They'd write RIP Billy Carson—died eating something he shouldn't have –Billy laughed.
–Cockroaches –Scarlett shuddered –They're disgusting. Eating them…–
–I think they clean them. At least mine would be a noble cause of death –Billy joked, forcing down the taste of chicken with a long sip of beer.
–Trying one wouldn't be that bad –she continued.
–Dream trip –she added.
–The dream trip is the one you take and miss for the rest of your life –Billy replied, leaning in to kiss the chicken-smeared corners of her lips with affection, almost as a celebration that she was there.
…
They spent the evening on the Jersey Shore, camping in a small community that recognized Billy and invited him to join their bonfire. They played drums and shared drinks while, from a hundred meters away, his bodyguard watched over them from a café chair, binoculars occasionally raised to scan the scene.
–Music is, and always will be, art. Robots can play it, but they'll never imitate real music. What isn't meant to be will never be. Simple as that –Billy said, slightly drunk, while Scarlett's cheeks glowed red. She doubted she could handle another drink without spiraling.
–It's like the Green Dwarfs—whenever there's a Green Dwarf, you don't change its color –Billy went on, as the crowd listened to him like he was some kind of god. He kept saying nonsense, and Scarlett laughed endlessly. Before anything else could happen, Billy whispered that he'd dedicate himself to talking nonsense, and she couldn't stop laughing as he did.
…
Later that night, they were in a massive nightclub. Billy danced with two women while Scarlett raised her arms, trying to fight off dizziness. She took a deep breath, then wrapped her arms around him, and he kissed her passionately. She was marking her territory—but it was more than that. She was completely crazy about him. Life with Billy was a constant rollercoaster—living without caring about the world or anyone in it. When they walked into the club with no cash, he'd said, "Take off the bandana," and added that in thirty minutes, they'd regret not letting him in.
They let him in. He drank, and people invited him over. "I'll throw a party for three days straight," he declared, "and everyone's invited. The only rule—drink and keep drinking.
...