The director was very precise in explaining what they wanted and how they wanted it; he wasn't vague in saying that he now had a clear vision for the next thirty days. What was the promise? An improvement in his acting skills, which, by their standards, were only slightly above average. He was just an ordinary actor; he needed more work. You could say that was the condition. They recommended a good coach, someone who trained stars for major roles.
Billy decided, then, to do a few edgier scenes—ones that would brush against the limit they had proposed the first time. But of course, it was different now that he was facing an adult woman, with minimal restraint. The body, to Billy, was a temple—something to be admired, of course. That was what he liked; it was how he felt appreciated. And the envy that stirred in people's hearts when they looked at him couldn't matter less to him—his body was something to behold.
Everything was symmetrical. His abs looked like the kind people tried to achieve through surgery; his defined chest gave him an athletic appearance, with shoulders just slightly broader. In him, there was a certain divine essence—something that naturally drew people in.
—Take a picture of me in the school uniform— Billy said.
—Of course— Nicola Brow replied, taking photos with precision, capturing every angle of Billy's physique. He moved with a kind of effortless grace, and with a more detached air, as she took her time, shooting different poses—almost like a runway—pushing every visual boundary, shaping each frame carefully.
—Everything is handmade. Don't worry, Blueberry will only raise questions; there's no branding here. What remains is Billy performing risky acts with the older blonde who seems to exist entirely within the trance of her role—
…
The next scene was an encounter in the music room, set apart within the framework of the production being filmed. Everything was done to recreate, in a matter of minutes, a performance—voices echoing what the school had staged some time ago, replayed from tapes lent by one of the parents in exchange for payment.
The scene begins from the classroom's perspective. With a nervous laugh, Billy is seen entering the room, while nearby stands Cate. They share a passionate kiss as Billy grabs her hair tightly. He pulls off her shirt, leaving a lilac-colored bra exposed to the air. At the same time, Steven/Billy becomes entangled in the tragedy of a teacher falling into lust, and the conquest of a boy over a woman who becomes captive to her own emotions.
—Scene 11—
It all begins with Barbara—a woman driven by obsession, someone who follows people out of habit, again and again, repeating the same behaviors she is used to. Stalking is nothing new to someone who knows little about decency; her intensity is familiar. Selfish and treacherous, she is someone who always wants control.
She walks for four minutes. Then she remembers something her friend Sheba mentioned—taking a turn by the music room. She takes note and strides forward, searching the places Sheba usually frequents. A three-minute walk, filmed in shadow, her sharp eyes gleaming.
And then, suddenly, she finds herself—
Confronted with the scene.
Steve Connely is shirtless, while the teacher is crouched before him, performing an explicit act—though little can be seen due to the darkness. What stands out is how Barbara's eyes light up. Then they widen even more as she sees the boy take the teacher's head and lift it, pulling her into a deep kiss while gripping her. Everything is fleeting.
The shot passes in seconds.
Barbara remains frozen, unable to react or understand what to do in the face of such behavior.
Billy/Steve slips out of the classroom unnoticed, unconcerned, ed and completely detached from any watching eyes. Everything goes unnoticed as the shot captures a lingering sense of shock that refuses to fade.
—Cut—
It marked the end of a day in which he worked tirelessly—repeating his lines and completing all the school scenes, at least for his part. There was little left for him to return to, if anything, and he was expected back next week. Filming again would be the next step.
…
His driver drops him off at home. He takes a breath, unsure of what to do—until something surprises him. A girl stands in front of him, her chocolate-colored eyes shining like two stars.
—What are you doing here?— Billy asked, closing the door. He seemed more cautious than usual, and that made the girl shift uncomfortably.
—My parents think I'm at a sleepover with friends— the girl replied, still too young to be on her own.
—Wow, I didn't expect you to carry that much rebellion in you— Billy said, looking at her as she seemed almost entranced.
—I just did what I wanted— she replied, slightly nervous. Moments earlier, Billy had sent her his address, along with a greeting to Mrs. Greenw, od—the housekeeper. Even now, she realized she had lied to everyone, pretending to be the mother of a school friend. Who would believe such a lie from a girl not used to lying, someone who never sneaks out—yet now she does, and it doesn't seem to matter to her that a storm could be about to break over Billy. All he can do is shrug.
—So then—
—My mother has work. She'll be back the day after tomorrow, too tired to notice anything. That's what happens when she has to manage too many things at once—she's been helping some relatives, Emma replied in a whisper.
—Happy birthday,— Billy said.
—I'm sixteen now—
—I see. It's a shame I left your gift in New York— Billy replied, stepping closer to her. She was short—he had nearly fifteen centimeters on her. He moved close enough that they could both feel each other's breath brushing against their faces. And though nothing was said, in silence, they looked into each other's eyes.
Billy let out a faint smile and walked past her. There was a hint of challenge in it—it was certain that over the next two days, whatever would unfold between them would rise to another level.
—I think Mrs. Greenwood left something to eat on the counter— Emma said. Mrs. Greenwood was in the laundry area, finishing her day before heading home, while the house, as always, remained spotless.