superstar: sings for everybody

The hallway, on the way out, was far less impressive, lacking the sleek beauty of the boardroom, with its avant-garde features typical of the minimalist aesthetic of finance. Everything seemed to adhere to a cold elegance, one that diverged from what most people would consider appealing.

Taking a breath, he used the wide staircase and noticed a few fans sneaking in, pretending not to see him. Still, he was sure some were already checking headlines about him, wondering what they could gain. Or maybe they were just fans eager to connect with Billy. But that was a story for another time.

–Take me to the DreamWorks studios. – Billy said to the driver waiting outside, a man in a black cap and tie who always appeared polite. Yet behind his eyes, Billy caught a glimpse of disgust and resentment—feelings he ignored while gazing out the window. At least the weather wasn't the only thing working against him.

…

–That was a cheap move, and you know it. – Jerry said, calling Roger Ames half an hour later to complain about the ambush of industry heavyweights thrown at Billy.

–You can't protect him forever. The boy needs to know his place. – Roger Ames replied.

–His place is where? On stage, making money for Warner, or in the boardroom, is losing it? You better speak plain, or my deafness might flare up again. – Jerry shot back, sharp and firm.

He knew Roger Ames far better than Roger knew himself. Jerry was older, more seasoned, and had traveled twice the distance, with countless artists who had taken the hardest roads through the industry. And unlike the flashy terms like win, celebrate, go wild… Jerry understood the underbelly of the business. That's why he was such a good negotiator—he knew the limits of every old dog in the industry and exactly how far he could push them.

–Come on, Jerry, it was the boss's orders. The kid handled it well… stayed composed, didn't matter where he was. – Roger said.

–He's a star. We built a star over the past three years, like no one's ever done before. Unlike those choreographed, dancing pop acts, I taught him psychology, public speaking, and theater as tools to manage stage reactions and emotional control. – Jerry said, fully aware of the difficulty. – He learned to play multiple instruments, and with his sharp personality, we now have the legacy of rock in our hands—doing real good for music, even when the old guard says he's not enough. But when he hits the stage, they greet him with flowers and gifts. Jealousy—pure jealousy—because he outshines them in performance, vocals, stage presence, and raw power. Even his lyrics spark debate. –

–That may be true… for now. – Roger replied with his usual bite.

–Well, my mistake was believing in him. In the meantime, I'll keep making money. Sponsors keep lining up, and we've planned this career down to the second. – Jerry said, ending the conversation so abruptly that it left Roger lost in thought. Talking to Jerry always took him back to May '66, when he was just a kid with unfinished dreams, hoping only to be backstage in the corporate world—music wasn't even part of his life then. But he ended up falling for people who truly belonged where they stood.

–Yeah. – Roger answered bluntly. Now that venom had reached him. Billy's film career was starting to look problematic—it pulled him away from music, and if the boy made money there, Roger would be reduced to a clown. Their contract only covered musical activities. Anything outside of that fell under a different agreement—agency law, brand and image rights—all of which limited the labels when the other side held real power.

Billy arrived at DreamWorks Studios a little worn from the trip, but his smile never left his face, just as planned. Scarlett had turned out to be more essential than he initially thought. She was far more useful than he'd imagined. Her beauty simply made it easier to be attached to a woman, but she had her charm—that was undeniable.

He winked at her while waiting in a chair. She noticed him from across the hall. As he wandered through the corridor, he saw how busy it was. To his left, what they called a working lunch was unfolding. A massive green screen was being set up, along with some structures that signaled this was a full-blown CGI film.

–Mr. Carson. – said a man in his early 40s, balding, and with a protruding belly.

–Thanks. – Billy whispered. But the man, who had always gone unnoticed, took a good look at his profile—striking, commanding. He had a handsome face, though not in a plastic sense. His nose was sharp and slightly upturned, his bridge small, eyes large and expressive, eyebrows well-defined, and chin youthful. With the overall look and presence, he was a perfect fit for commercial roles, more so than Ben Affleck, with whom the man had worked before. Maybe even more than Matt Damon, though the latter had acting chops he was still polishing over time.

–The casting director is waiting for you.

–Alright. – Billy whispered.

For the past few days, they had been casting roles one by one. Being a high-budget production, every actor needed to gett a fair shot at being part of it. Plus, there was the bond with DreamWorks—a studio that had been honing its ability to compete with Hollywood giants for at least eight years now.

–Come in. – said the casting director, pointing a camera at him from the center of the room.

–So, what do you think you need to do in an audition like this? – The woman asked from behind the line.

–I guess act—or just read a few lines. That's up to you. – Billy replied.

…

In another room, Michael Bay was with Scarlett, asking her if she'd be willing to do a chemistry test. Though the idea seemed odd, she didn't say no.

–Just something simple. A few kisses, some touching. You're the expert here—if I'm going to frame your emotions to convey complexity and strength, there's no other option. – said Michael Bay.

–Of course, I'll do my best. – Scarlett replied.

How hard must it be for people to do scenes like this? But that was the least of anyone's concern.

…

The casting director took some photos of Billy. He had a photogenic profile from every angle.

–Try to move around. We'll use spontaneity to see how you handle quick-action situations. Be over-the-top, be surprised, and try to stay natural. – said the director, who started snapping photos as Billy shifted from joy to sadness, seriousness to melancholy. He worked hard to refine what Serkis had taught him—how to move with intention. He knew that even closing your eyes had to be done consciously. Every feature, every facial movement meant something. This time, he had to channel ruggedness and beauty. It was lucky Andy had trained him in posture and movement.

–Alright, now let's move on to the next part. – The director said.

To his surprise, they handed him a script. It was much longer than it looked. The way the scenes flowed was unexpectedly complex and had to be performed with discipline.

–Okay, whenever you're ready. – said the director.

–I'm ready. – Billy answered, his gaze shifting to something more innocent—one filled with mixed moments. There was a strong non-verbal element. In the scene, he had to stand up in a room and press buttons that would open various doors. The performance relied entirely on him. To match the rhythm, Billy imagined a song that would sync with the scene—one where everything seemed fine but ended up going wrong, dragging everything into collapse. He needed to find a song that, in his mind, evoked the numbness of reality, blinded by what the screens showed.

His mind was running a mile a minute. Dozens of songs flashed by like a montage. But Exit Music, the track written for a film, stood out. It dealt with a reality disconnected from truth, clouded by drug use, and the ruin of a man falling through his sins.

But before anything else, he had to smile—a smile that made everything seem normal. But his mood was sinister, as if something inside him knew everything had gone wrong. Yet he smiled because he followed the crowd. Everything was under control—every move calculated: the clothes he wore, the food he ate, the games he played, even the people he dated.

....