Grandma was a little old woman who doubled the age of anyone in the room, except perhaps Spencer; his age was unknown to Billy. She was furious about it and, for the past four years, had always been turning seventy-five. Spencer said she had already been pulling that trick for ten years.
The arrival was difficult; the photographers were out of their minds. A shame that Spencer's private neighborhood led them to a beautiful residence, a three-story house that seemed to be everything the boy could ever want. A house where his favorite meals were served every day. His clothes folded with care. Billy loved every moment in which he was happy; he would settle beneath the large tree in the yard, sheltered by its branches, a great stump where he could rest from California's sweat-heavy air on special dates. Grandma's dog was a sweet puppy with long, drooping ears, tender eyes, swaying from side to side as if it were dancing.
—Roast.—Billy commented, watching the meat burn; he could almost taste it on his lips. He wanted to sleep all day; he would have to travel and go through multiple dates with different girls throughout a single day, trying to go unnoticed even though he secretly wanted a party.
—You're burning the meat.—Connor remarked, taking the tongs and turning it over, the edges scorched where the grill touched.
—A little burnt, stop being so strict.—
Connor downed his beer. Spencer arranged the napkins delicately. Scarlett dozed off on a chair, beneath the shade, a thin blanket over her.
Grandma arrived with her younger sisters, carrying a large bowl of guacamole. Potatoes and chicken croquettes. Strips of meat with slices of chorizo spread across the grill, enough to clog arteries; the burgers were almost ready; the buns, the sauces, and ribs coated in Grandma's marinated sauce.
—My dear little boy comes to visit me—Grandma said, giving Billy a big kiss. He hugged her like a small child, even though she was tiny and barely reached his chest.
—Grandma, I love you so much—Billy said.
—My little boy, you should come live here in California. You're so thin. You need more flour in that body—Grandma said as she handed him a potato wrapped in chili, which he tasted. Grandma's sisters served Coca-Cola, beer, and for themselves, iced herbal tea.
While he toured the entire country, he went on a total of twenty-four dates; there were still twenty-nine left, all already planned to take place in California, in a large Warner production studio—a series of meetings that would take Billy about half a month, doing three dates per day. A true exhaustion that began as a joke, but had now become a way to see how the industry behaved when jokes turned serious.
—Nike agrees to develop the sports brand around Billy—Jerry commented calmly as he reviewed the quality of the garments: thick, colorful skeleton prints, silk button-up shirts with Hawaiian cuts, and an air of lust throughout the collection, based on shoes, custom hoodies, and shirts tailored to the boy's own taste.
—I like the collection—his son replied.
—It's true, it's not something I would wear. But I see potential in these sporty styles that are so different from Blue Berry's classic, clean looks, which creates brand differentiation for different situations—Jerry replied, seeing beyond the business. Nike's offer was outstanding: four million dollars plus a twenty percent share of profits, a deal that felt on par with Jordan. But the boy was giving off a sporty, casual, rock-inspired vibe that had already generated a great deal of money for Nike.
—That's why we want to strengthen our relationship; we want Billy to do another commercial… we've heard he's under contract with Red Bull—commented Charles D. Denson, Nike's global president. This particular deal was among the most famous: when everyone thought sports alone would drive sales, an independent clothing line under the Nike umbrella, tailored to Billy, brought a fresh style that captured ten to fifteen percent of the North American market, crushing the competition.
—Of course.—Jerry sighed.
—We want him to decide. I've heard he likes skiing—Charles added.
Jerry looked closely and knew he wouldn't like that; his heart skipped a beat. He needed to think. Charles read the room with a glance and continued gently.
—That's why I think it's best to start step by step. I've heard he enjoys sports dates; we'll handle everything with the production company, as long as Warner allows Billy to use our brands in a more sponsored way—Charles replied.
—Well, consider it done—Jerry said—preferring to stick with the idea of Billy doing some sports; now it was surf's turn. As long as he was fine, it wouldn't cause interference; of that he was sure.
Jerry took a sip of water and continued the entire negotiation performance.
—I like that style—he replied softly.
—Besides, it's known that Billy's next tour will start in September. He needs a brand with the capital to double its presence in the United States, the crown jewel—Charles responded, already familiar with stadiums to fill, halftime shows, and venues they could use, while a major plaza to be packed with thousands was already being considered.
…
Jerry wrapped up the morning. The studios were free. They had a secluded beach, without many people to interfere, and now they had an idea of what to do: beach dates, amusement park dates, roller coasters. Everything lay at their feet. He reviewed the photos of the girls. Twenty-two of them were of legal age, pretty—just the way the boy liked them. Some had a more innocent profile than others, but that didn't matter.
—Arrange all of that—Jerry told Michael Ocklars.
—Carmen has already met with production—Michael Ocklars said gently."
...