The crowd at the Jazz Café was a little livelier than Billy remembered; at one point he had become obsessed with listening to every jazz record he had left behind during his NUMETAL fixation, before moving on to the next genre.
—We start in five.—the sound engineer shouted, facing a café that was full in a strangely unpleasant way. Not a single empty soul. Everything was particularly packed.
He went from a glass of alcohol to a pitcher of lemonade. The heat was unbearable; he had spent months in cold climates, battered by the wind. Subzero temperatures. Everything seemed to remind him of a city he wished to forget. People gathered from side to side, some in the same synthetic state as him, trying to survive the madness that seemed tightly bound to them.
—Here we can actually play my songs.—Billy had told Scarlett as she took her place among the audience. She chose a song that felt as if it had been written to be sung by two people. Billy nodded with a gesture that said it didn't matter what happened; he would be there. His support as bassist and second voice was enough to avoid overcommitting. Billy was a pressure that weighed on Scarlett; performing with a professional was different, his presence was indistinguishable from that of a novice. Sometimes, when he came in, he did so with such force that she now had to prepare herself whenever she wanted to sing duets, because his voice eclipsed everyone else's. He had an ability that made even inexperienced guitarists want to slow their tempo or speed up to match him. When I asked him how he managed to surprise people, the answer was simple and direct: just sing like you truly want it. When people know that even when you're off, you're still going to sing, they push harder—and then it's the strength of your voice speaking over them.
I didn't understand.
Billy backed her up, and her heart warmed. She wanted him in an unhealthy way.
—Let's give it a go.—Billy whispered as he passed beside her, one hand settling on her microphone, commanding it.
You and Me (Lifehouse)
🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵
What day is it?
And in what month?
This clock never seemed so alive
I can't keep up
And I can't back down
I've been losing so much time
🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵
…
She had it; this song slipped past her difficulties. There was something magical about how she could make something damn hard feel so simple again. Billy, without a doubt, had taught her well.
Spencer watched; the audience allowed themselves to close their eyes. He liked these soft songs. They left room for a couple of harmonies. Forty years playing guitar, and his skills were beyond anyone foolish enough to challenge him to a guitar duel. Connor, at one end, simply struck the low notes with force and let the percussion wander, through a bass that sounded like a two-octave vocalist over a chamber of water.
🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵
'Cause it's you and me
And all of the people with nothing to do
Nothing to lose
And it's you and me
And all of the people
And I don't know why
I can't keep my eyes off of you
All of the things
That I want to say just aren't coming out right
I'm tripping on words
You got my head spinning
I don't know where to go from here
🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵
Billy's voice cut into Scarlett's thoughts. The force with which he sang his own songs was undeniably overwhelming. She felt it sink into her bones. She remembered an interview with a rock band she had shared the stage with; it had been magnificent—almost a blow of life itself.
"he sings and we just play and hum, damn it" she snapped back into rhythm, following the entire song, even though she would only sing six lines; without realizing it, he pulled her into his tempo. He played the bass drenched in sweat, wearing a white shirt left unbuttoned.
She turned to look at Billy's intense eyes facing the crowd; women melted in front of him, some throwing roses. It was ridiculous how a music star could feel like an entire tour bus compared to a film star. Madness printed itself onto people. She hesitated on the next note, and Billy came in with force.
🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵
'Cause it's you and me
And all of the people with nothing to do
Nothing to prove
And it's you and me
And all of the people
And I don't know why
I can't keep my eyes off of you
Something about you now
I can't quite figure out
Everything she does is beautiful
Everything she does is right
🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵
Scarlett decided it right then, even though she was a singer. She didn't have that something she worked so hard for in film; talent felt so distant. The skill never seemed to fade from Billy's lips, brushing every note with perfection.
She wasn't a singer; she could sing, but nothing compared to watching someone who, without trying, left her so far behind. The feeling of losing. The many times she had seen great artists live and watched fans in the crowd be shaken with such force.
She released the weight of two rocks she had been carrying.
She kept singing, and that freedom made her better; she could almost say she was good. Compared to the golden boy. She knew it like breathing: music was Billy's destiny. From any possible angle, all his songs were hits; some passed quietly, but everyone knew them from somewhere. The good lyrics, the rock style etched into his veins, the soul of freedom and the arrogant way he rejected any refusal—a wall against criticism that seemed to bounce back whenever his music was mentioned.
🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵
'Cause it's you and me
And all of the people with nothing to do
Nothing to lose
And it's you and me
And all of the people
And I don't know why
I can't keep my eyes off
From you and me
And all of the people with nothing to do
And nothing to prove
And it's you and me
And all of the people
And I don't know why
I can't keep my eyes off of you
What day is it?
And in what month?
This clock never seemed so alive
🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵
A current of sensation mixed inside her. They would rehearse tomorrow, but now she knew the place—the place where all ordinary people had to stand on the scale of magic. A feeling of admiration crossed her heart; she needed to see more of this artist who seemed to leave his skin on every stage.
...
—You're an incredibly good guitarist—Scarlett whispered at the end of the performance, her beautiful face dripping with sweat, her blonde hair stuck in small strands.
—It's practice, dear; I've been playing since birth—Spencer replied, showing her the acoustic chords of his songs with such pleasure that she actually learned them in just over an hour.
—Spencer is the best music teacher in all of California—Billy commented as he walked in with a confident smile; there was lipstick on his lip. But that was normal after thousands of frenzied students had thrown themselves at him like a clearance sale. He stepped closer and rubbed his sweat against her in an affectionate gesture, like a cat; his eyes filled her with life.
—We have to go see Grandma,—Spencer said.
—Of course, we do—Billy said with a wide smile; Grandma was a beautiful person.
...