After a concert, the only thing left is to shake off the emotions—and what better way to celebrate it. Billy was nearly drunk, his dizzy mind searching for a chair. He was dancing in a circle with six completely naked women; he caught sight of Sara Underwood among them, wearing nothing but a piece of fabric covering her lower half, her breasts exposed, her blonde hair messy. In the corner was Jack, in a strange position with his latest conquest, perhaps having sex in the darkness of the night.
There was no sign of the other band members; all he could say was that there were many women, perhaps at least ten, for Jack and for him. Further off stood a somewhat older producer—according to Jerry, he had a lot of money, though Billy couldn't care less. It seemed money itself was his father. He wore a loose blue shirt and gold all over his body. They were all beautiful. Zoe was there too, dancing, but she wore absolutely nothing, and something in him awakened. Beneath the sweat of everyone, he grabbed her from behind while she moaned, and he entered her without a care for who might be watching. The women danced around them, some unsure of what to do or say. But there were no more restraints—what began as something private turned into a spectacle, almost like a main event drawing others closer. Jack ended up joining with his partner, and it all dissolved into a chaotic, unpleasant orgy where they lost all sense of time, so many women waiting for even the slightest touch.
The rest passed by in flashes—like quick trips, like blunt impacts. He woke up on a bed with at least four women in his room, no sign of Jack. Zoe lay to one side, hugging a pillow, while the others shifted into place around him.
--Well… that was complete madness. —Billy whispered, walking toward the shower. The mess felt alive; he saw countless condoms on the floor, and it made him recoil at his own earlier behavior.
A red-haired girl followed him into the bathroom. The image of her being taken from both sides—and then by the heavy man—flashed through his mind.
--If you're coming in, it's because you're going to wash—and you're going to wash me completely. —Billy said, raising an eyebrow.
The girl laughed nervously, but she didn't refuse; she was willing to do what was asked. Without hesitation, she began to run a sponge over him, using the shower hose to rinse him clean. She washed herself as well, moving her body with a certain rhythm, her pale skin marked by a faint red line that traced down from her chest toward her abdomen.
Having sex in succession always left his body exhausted, as if it demanded rest. On the bathroom counter he noticed a basket full of condoms—perhaps he could go again. His body reacted just from feeling her slender fingers moving along him, up and down. She was good with her hands, in an almost elegant way, and he nearly allowed himself to enjoy how she tried to please him. But he held back. He waited until she finished washing him before taking a long, warm shower, while her green eyes watched him with quiet hunger.
He didn't want the bath—only the steady stream of warm water pouring over him. The girl pressed herself against his back, deliberate yet pretending to be indifferent.
To one side, the room began to come back into focus. Through the door entered a blonde he recognized. She wore a robe, something about her grounding the moment in reality. Sarah bit into the sheets, opening herself in a position on all fours, waiting to be taken roughly. Yet another young blonde devoted herself to her, using her hands while drawing from her a softer response—Sarah seemed to yield, but preferred the women. Especially Zoe—she let Zoe guide her, tracing along her skin with careful intent. Sarah was delicate, her body slight, almost fragile. She eventually stepped into the shower, seeking the warmth of Billy's now-clean body.
***
Jerry took a glass as he ran through the numbers.
—We sold everything; it's completely sold out now. —Agustus replied, the concert's logistics operator. The heavy stacks of money had already been accounted for, and everything else was secondary.
—Hope to see us again next year. —Jerry said, offering a firm handshake. In the distance, the man nodded without hesitation.
—The company will send the money in two to three months, but it's always a pleasure doing business with you. Billy has reached the point of becoming a valuable asset for the company, and as a Midwest partner, we'd like to establish a long-term contract. —Agustus said.
--With a unilateral termination clause if I see any sign of issues with security, transport, or accommodation. If you treat contracts as assets, we treat Billy as one that generates billions a year. He seems to be especially loved in Latin America, Australia, and here in the United States… of course, including the British Isles. —Jerry murmured, aware that although Billy was famous, he wasn't yet what he aimed to be in Europe. His image was still forming. His songs were good, but some albums had only resonated within niche audiences, reflected in their sales and limited presence in concerts.
Still, he would have at least twelve number-one songs on the Billboard charts, and in rock he was, without question, a defining face. As a composer, he was prominent, and as a solo performer, he stood within reach of the greats.
--Lawyers, then. —Jerry said.
—Lawyers it is. —Agustus replied, fully aware of how difficult the industry could be. Yet a good contract meant earning in weeks what a company might earn in a year. Universal's divisions were at the top alongside themselves, while Sony promoted many artists—but Michael Jackson was no longer part of their roster. That left the younger generation to rise.
…
Jerry walked down the hallway, taking a break from his life in New York. Sometimes he would sit and simply not want to sleep—yet he needed it, even if it brought a sense of total disconnection. His soul felt heavy, and everything else seemed to tick like a clock. Billy both renewed him and pushed him into a corner.
Not far ahead, to his displeasure, he saw that Billy was once again in the middle of another episode—one of many that always left something to talk about.
—You've come for Billy, haven't you? —said Michael Ocklars.
—As a matter of fact, I have. —Jerry replied.
—He only causes trouble. —Michael added.
We all cause trouble, Jerry thought. He asked a question, prompting a response from Michael. A gesture passed between them, and both understood—it was only a matter of time before someone arrived with the boy and his favorite groupies, semi-famous girls who had the backing to travel with him, or at least enough money to send them back home.
...