superstar: sings for everybody

To top it all off, and as a way of indulging in a bit of scandal, for Naomi Watts—who had just ended a relationship with the talented actor Heath Ledger, who, despite appearances, was nearly ten years her junior—now seeing a guy who seemed ready to take her in any position was slightly tempting. She resisted, standing firm against what felt like slamming into a rising wall. Yet, she couldn't deny the youthful allure of a guy who wasn't subtle at all, someone widely considered incredibly attractive—and he truly was. It brought a rush of strength, confidence, and security about her time; nothing was slipping away. There was still time to play, to enjoy herself, and that was her marvelous way of finding the positives.

She listened to his music and found it devastating. Some songs were brilliant, others a bit offbeat—it felt like madness. Every album was like tuning in to a radio station playing different versions of an artist without a clear identity. But that's what made it unique. His music felt liberating, even when he sang nonsense. She could still enjoy the color of his voice—soft, always precise, seductively tinged with a slight rasp that made her heart flutter. And as she caught herself dancing without meaning to, she realized how completely he filled the music.

Andy Serkis kept going on about what a fantastic pianist he was, and what a great guitarist too. Even Adrien Brody, who had recently won an Oscar for playing the piano, asked if he could see what the kid had. Andy's guttural laugh was all the answer anyone needed—maybe he'd be surprised.

–Naomi, you have to scream like your life depends on it. – Peter Jackson told her, and it was amazing how he could turn screaming into something truly cinematic. Hitting that high note wasn't easy.

–I've got everything under control. – Naomi replied. They were filming in a strange order—first the jungle scenes, then the New York ones, and finally the ship sequences—all because they'd been delayed in figuring out how to shoot them.

The sound of a landing airplane made them curse out loud. They'd lost the take, and everything had to be reset. Still, the pace was slow anyway, because Jackson's meticulousness was exactly what these mega-productions demanded—he even focused on the actors' smallest gestures.

–I've got to get back to work. – Naomi said, watching Andy Serkis wear a black suit covered in blue dots and strange connections, his entire body mimicking a gorilla.

****

The first thing that happened when Billy arrived was a welcoming committee from Warner. Everyone was thrilled about the success he had brought to Warner Music. The Billy Carson brand had generated $800 million so far that year across albums, tours, and promotions. Of that, $180 million went directly into Billy's pockets thanks to his album Everflow, which had sold 10.9 million copies worldwide. Castle in the Sky had sold 18 million copies globally, and together with the tour, had grossed nearly $200 million. It was all about money, licensing, and promotions.

Meanwhile, the Disco Agustina album sold 10 million copies, becoming the second-best-selling Spanish-language album in history, without even having an English version. Only Selena stood ahead of him, and by a large margin. The album caused a stir in Latin American countries unaccustomed to buying CDs due to their high cost and rampant piracy. But sales were driven by young Latinos living in the U.S., Mexico, and Spain—the core contributors to this wave. After Warner's media named it the second-best-selling Latin album in history, it gained more traction elsewhere. Within six months, the numbers confirmed it: these were major hits, and Billy's career was skyrocketing toward a place where nothing could slow it down.

–Mr. Roger would like to see you. I'm sorry to bother you, Mr. Carson. – said Audrey, a personal assistant, standing before the so-called Prince of Rock. Prince of Rock? That was Warner's honorary nickname for him, meant solely to turn him into a profitable product. He was quickly gaining recognition as the best-selling artist of the early 2000s. Sure, he wasn't outselling the established legends, but for that decade, he was the king.

–Sure, let's go see the boss. – Billy replied. He knew Roger had helped him land a few acting roles, while he himself turned down the Grammys—it was all a give-and-take. He already had plenty of Grammys; what he really wanted now was an Oscar, though he knew how hard those golden statues were to win. His best bet was to write some killer soundtracks.

…

Roger wasn't exactly charming—he held the position because he got things done. He had plenty of access, the early signs of balding, and wore glasses. He looked like anything but a star.

–Thank you, Audrey… – said Roger, who stood alongside Lyor Cohen, the head of entertainment, there mostly to lend presence to the boy so closely guarded by Jerry. Jerry didn't allow much access, so everything people knew about Billy came through him, including the scandals. Scandals that, really, only existed because he was famous. Many private citizens lived far messier lives, but nobody cared.

–I think this calls for us to greet the real boss. – said Lyor. They were headed to the executive's office to request that the boy be brought in. Something was going on, and apparently, according to Jerry's warning, the kid didn't take authority well.

But Barry Meyer didn't care about that. He was one of those people who had long wanted to meet the golden goose. It was incredible how this kid had become the center of every headline.

…

–Well, look who it is—the boss of all bosses. – Billy said with a long yawn. He had an interview to attend, and the trip hadn't let him rest properly. People gathered, paparazzi had sniffed out his whereabouts, and that's why he hated Los Angeles—it was the damn spotlight, with barely any room to walk. Some people leaned against the gate, and others took pictures from inside. And it was just California, calling his loyal fans to give their lives for him.

–What a load of crap. – Billy muttered. He felt constantly caged or hunted. Maybe Jerry had seen it coming and hired bodyguards for his protection.

He had a headache as he entered the room to face the suited men, all of them eyeing him like judges, jurors, and executioners.

–Sit down, Billy. – one of them said. Something in his tone rubbed Billy the wrong way.

–I don't like those chairs. Someone get me one without wheels. And please, a coffee or some tea. I've got a headache. – Billy said like he owned the place. In front of him stood people criticizing him—one for not caring about the environment, another quoting Bible verses about women and implying he was a profligate.

–So, young man... – said Barry Meyer, his deep voice echoing. – I suppose this isn't good news. We spent nearly $3 million on PR and anti-espionage efforts, and yet we still have some photos that seem to violate your low-profile clause. –

Billy nodded.

Barry looked at him.

–You know you're a star. But you need to be careful. – Roger Ames added.

They brought a new chair. Billy sat down, sipping his tea, and nibbled on some vanilla-flavored cookies.

–Well, I don't really know much about the environment to speak on it. Maybe talk to the car companies, or the oil giants… I just sing and play guitar. – Billy said. – And as for Sodom, maybe you should look elsewhere. I've had fewer partners than most of you. I like to choose mine. –

The smirk stayed on his face. Barry chuckled. That attitude—that was what sold.

–Alright, just keep that in mind. If anything happens, we'll be there to protect you. – Barry said.

–Thanks, I hope so… –

–You've entered the world of film, and we've pulled every string to get you into big productions. Just know that it comes with a price. We expect you to dedicate 2005 to touring Latin America, then return to Europe, continue in Asia, and finally come back here for your mega tour. – Barry Meyer added.

The impending disaster seemed to stroll right into the room. Billy's uninterested face only made Barry get more direct. As long as the money kept rolling in, nothing else mattered.

–Sure, no problem. – Billy replied. He knew the grind was starting again—nonstop touring. – But I'd like at least four days between shows, or I'll have to cancel. My voice can't handle three back-to-back dates. I need to rest. –

The boss of bosses nodded.

–You can go, kid. – Mr. Meyer said. Billy barely sipped his tea, took the cup in one hand and the cookies in the other, and closed the door behind him, feeling uneasy. The whole thing had been weird.

...