For at least thirty minutes, Billy had been singing the songs meant for the blonde now gripping her microphone tightly—songs he'd been rehearsing for the past fifteen days. The bar, built for 200 people, was packed to the brim. Tables had been pushed aside, and the crowd pressed forward, buzzing with anticipation. The rumor had spread fast—Billy was in New Jersey—and that alone had sold out the tickets, forcing a redesign of the security layout. A barrier now separated the band from the sea of people. At least there's some decency left, Scarlett thought to herself, gazing at them with those wide, gentle eyes, while around her, people seemed lost in the electric tension. The screams were sharp, raw bursts of emotion.
She caught sight of Billy with his guitar, wearing a cowboy hat that suited him painfully well—he looked beautiful.
Billy's guitar began to vibrate with power; his fingers danced over the strings.
–We start in three –said someone from the band behind him. There was a pianist, a saxophonist, an acoustic guitar, and an electric one that filled in as Billy's second voice. Every member of the band seemed uncertain—this wasn't the kind of set they were used to.
Billy, meanwhile, had other obligations to attend to. He was set to meet three young women, ages seventeen and eighteen, as part of an agreement—starting with small towns, since the statewide tour hadn't covered the entire program. Each girl gave an interview, but only the best would make it to the screen—the hall of fame, as they called it.
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Well, they're lining up to mad-dog your Tilt-a-Whirl
Three shots for a dollar, win a real live doll
All the lies that you tell, I believed them so well
Take them back, take them back to your red house
For that fearful leap into the dark
Oh well, I did my time in the jail of your arms
Now Ophelia wants to know where she should turn
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Her voice trembled as she tried to give it her all. Billy accompanied her with a soft melody, filling the room with something entirely different from their usual rock—the electrifying energy replaced by a gentle tune that made the music glide and flutter.
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Tell me, what did you do, what did you do the last time?
Why don't you do that?
Well, go ahead and take this the wrong way
Time's not your friend.
Do you cry, do you pray, do you wish them away?
Are you still leaving nothing but bones in the way?
Did you bury the carnival, with the lions and all?
Excuse me while I sharpen my nails
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For three minutes, the fog lingered, and the crowd slowly returned to their seats on the second floor—some hoping for another glimpse of Billy, others simply ordering a drink.
Scarlett closed her eyes, trying to seize a chance to express herself through music. The guitar followed her rhythm, simple touches feeding her delicate voice.
Billy squinted slightly; her tone was clear and precise—remarkably precise for a newcomer singing for the first time. The high notes were sharp and well-placed, but she lacked strength, the confidence to make the audience believe she was a singer meant for greatness.
But it didn't matter—that was the science of music. She needed power to make people sing with her. Merely following along would bore the audience; an artist's pride demands to stand out.
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And just who are you, who are you this time?
You look rather tired. Are you pretending to love?
Well, I hear that it pays well
How do your pistol and your Bible, and your sleeping pills go?
Are you still jumping out of windows in expensive clothes?
Well, I fell in love with your sailor's mouth and your wounded eyes
You'd better get down on the floor, don't you know this is war
Tell me, who are you this time?
Tell me, who are you this time?
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Billy drew in as much air as he could as the song ended. Silence stretched out. Then came the next track. They couldn't let their heads drop now—the show had to go on. Commitment had been part of the deal from the very beginning.
…
–That was really good. For your first time, that's not something you see often –Billy said.
She was trembling a little.
–I'm kind of scared –Scarlett admitted.
–Let's go party. A rockstar's life needs something to clear the mind –Billy grinned, pulling her into his arms. She was nervous, trying not to resist, but failed completely—overwhelmed by the expectations she'd seen in the eyes of the crowd and the band. It was almost behavioral logic.
–I don't think that's true for any of us –Scarlett whispered, her voice breaking as tears slipped down her face. She didn't have the strength to believe she was worth that much, though she tried not to let it show.
–It's not as bad as you think –Billy replied.
–Do I suck? –Scarlett asked.
–Only as much as anyone doing their job –Billy said, lifting her into a playful spin before she could object. Then he took her out to celebrate, shaking off any gloomy thoughts with a night that eased the sting of failure.
…
–We need to create something big—something where people can experience the thrill of going on a date with a star –said a TV producer. The show had joined NBC and was now moving to MTV. Who would've thought? The setup was wild but strangely compelling. Billy had signed a contract—loose enough to let chaos unfold freely within the reality show's frame.
–A party. Two shy girls, a few that looked a bit older, but everything got out of control –
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