Arriving in the United States was a place of memories and loves, where moments seemed to marvel at themselves. Without any intent for consequence, I felt somewhat restrained, with little to say—the moment when everything seemed to converge into a single instant of life. Even if one denied it, even if one marveled at those fleeting moments, filled with bits of life and force, the great city had its charm. Manhattan felt made for him—to live a life he could seize at any moment.
–You've got a party. –Billy sighed, speaking on the phone with Adriana. The woman, wearing a crystal-patterned dress, was finishing a major runway show no more than two kilometers away from him. Meanwhile, the guy strummed his guitar in boredom. He'd been wanting to rest for a while, especially after Scarlett's calls saying she'd see him in five days—and his growing desire to just lie in bed, staring at himself in the mirror.
–Sounds good. I just hope we do something calm. –Billy sighed. –I've got an audition next weekend, and I just want something quiet, till three in the morning, nothing spectacular, nothing that'll drive my mind crazy.–
–Hahahahaha! –she laughed. –That's not exactly what I call "nothing spectacular." A movie at home, come on, have a heart, my friend. When people are getting married, they rest only as much as they want for themselves.–
–Then come over and stop me from doing anything stupid. You're truly undeniable. –Billy said.
–Hahaha, I already promised I'd go. Now you have to show your bad side and come to the party. There'll be a few producers—protect me from those fat, old men who just want to act foolish. –Adriana replied.
They were full of life, the Victoria's Secret women—radiant from a viral campaign. Each of them seemed born to enchant. Doutzen Kroes was a true bombshell, filled with a kind of magic—like a Barbie, yet as fiery as any woman before her, irresistible to any man's pockets. And then Tyra Banks, the mentor of them all—one of the veterans, still walking the runway, though a bit jealous, still commanding the spotlight with all her experience.
–Come on, bring your friends. –Adriana said.
–No one tells me what to do or not to do. –Billy muttered.
–I'll be at your place in thirty minutes. –Adriana said, laughing. Her bright eyes said everything they wanted to. Nothing that perpetuated charm—her body burned with renewed desire, her lips searching for a kiss. The time she'd spent away from Billy's steps had only fueled the fire of what she felt for him.
–I'll tell them you're coming. –Billy said. –I'll announce you. Bring something to eat—I want coffee and a bit of that glorious rye bread you buy.–
–I'll make the arrangements.–
Jack was completely out of his mind—bursting with what could only be called the youth of rock. Chicago was his city, while Billy lived in New York. Nothing special—Jack hated that city where everyone seemed bitter and only worked. At least here, the parties were good—or so he thought. Jack Sauce was in full chaos with Kate Bosworth; their relationship was madness top to bottom—wild as a hurricane. They looked insane together, in every way imaginable.
–Come on, baby! –they shouted.
Jack held a glass like a vase, already filled with all kinds of drinks. Kate's eyes were lost, wild like those of the people around them.
Jack finished his drink, his head spinning from side to side. He smiled wide and moved smoothly as the dizziness carried him away, swallowed by the darkness. Kate came closer and kissed him. Their tongues met—it was bliss, the kind of moment both longed to live in forever.
–Let's get married. –Jack said.
–Yes, let's do it. –Kate replied.
–Tomorrow. –Jack suggested. –You and me, forever. Let life make us mad, bind us together forever, and may we live such a life that we'll never forget the love we desired.–
–I just don't want kids yet. –the girl said, her eyes lost in a daze.
–Too many parties to go to.–
They fell into each other again. Each lived their own wild life.
Connor finished his beer, still sitting alone at the bar, with no one near him. The young man drank slowly while Spencer played the guitar with calm precision in a wild hour of jazz, where it seemed that emotion itself was the only true instrument.
–Connor, kid, get on the drums! –one of the old men shouted. The atmosphere of the bar was elegant yet lively—it always had that cheerful air.
He nodded, finishing his beer in one gulp and taking a deep breath. His drumsticks, resting on the table, spun quickly in his fingers—so fluid, so graceful. What a feeling.
The sound of the drums filled the room.
Connor drifted into thoughts about his life and what he loved. But why did he feel so empty? He wanted to keep playing—to stay in rhythm, to drown out the heavy weight of his soul. Billy was far away—the sun of his life, the confidence he never had—the friend he'd known for six years.
Leaving his demons behind, the music swelled. A tall girl with hazel eyes was watching him. He looked back the same way as he finished the set.
When it ended, she approached him. A greeting, a smile—both caught in a tender moment. He brushed his fingers along her cheekbones, half-expecting rejection, but she didn't pull away. So alike, yet so different. He kissed her gently.
–What's your name?–
–Haily. –the girl whispered.
–You're of age?–
She nodded, almost shyly. Her heart was racing—she was standing before a rock musician. Everyone said even Billy Carson showed up here sometimes, among the other rockers.
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