They wrapped up the concert around six in the evening. After so much dancing, after so many technical retreat maneuvers, as people began to gather, the way they had enjoyed it helped them move beyond mere simplicity.
–Kid, you're good. – Jon remarked, watching the roar of the crowd. It hadn't been long since his tour, but now he longed to be back on stage, to feel that adrenaline rush again.
–For an old man, you've got rhythm. I was expecting we'd have to stop halfway and bring you some aspirin—for the headache. –
Jon responded with a hard punch to Billy's arm, so strong that Billy had to rub it.
–Alright, alright, I get it. You don't like it when I bring up the forbidden topic. –
–It's the way you say it, you arrogant brat… Show a little more respect for legends. Now, help me out with an autograph and a T-shirt from your tour. It was a long trip for my daughter's birthday. –
–Of course, man, no problem. We could even record something for my page—if she's a fan, she must check my blog often. And when I post, they all listen. –
Jon looked him straight in the eyes.
–So, you want to use me again. –
A birthday song, man. Stop being a perv. –
Bon Jovi laughed so hard it drew the attention of the band backstage, who were still caught in the electrifying atmosphere, as people lingered, hoping for more. One by one, they headed for their buses, en route to a small afterparty, where a few celebrities would be in attendance—perhaps another night of wild excess.
One thing that surprised Billy was how these old rockers could drink. During the concert, the bassist had downed half a bottle, and the more he drank, the better he played. On the way to the party, Billy met some fans—beautiful women, wealthy women, but that didn't matter. He kissed them all back, and they clung to him like barnacles. He knew exactly how to drive them wild—just enough hints of desire, the perfect glimmers of temptation, for the lucky ones who made it through.
One blonde stood out—a stunning woman with blue eyes, smelling divine, a perfect ten. Her name was Colette, and she radiated a certain glow. She had two friends with her, not as breathtaking, but that didn't matter. They joined the band, while the more distant members—Connor, who was practically asexual, the ever-difficult Spencer, and Jack, the lovestruck one still devoted to Kate—kept their distance from the scene.
–Now that we've taken care of the fans, we can record that birthday song. – Billy said, picking up an electric guitar, and recalling the notes.
–Let's do it. –
Victoria Lehman was exhausted but thrived on exhaustion. The concert footage, food critiques, fan reception, her advertising company—what had started as a three-person job had grown to five, managing a website now completely self-sustaining from the traffic surge. The concept was so ahead of its time that it stood out among those eyeing new business models, and trying to shape them.
Bon Jovi's band truly knew how to party. Jon, as the lead singer and a married man, mostly stuck to chatting and joking around with the group, but he drank and smoked like a machine.
–When kids don't understand that real dancing only happens after a song, that's when you know who's a real rocker. A real rocker drinks without falling over. – Jon declared.
Jack Sauce nodded in agreement, Connor laughed, and Spencer swallowed hard before taking another swig.
–That's the kind of nonsense only a kid would believe. – Billy shot back, though his cheeks were already flushed from the mix of wine and champagne.
–Sure, we're talking about real rockers. – Jon countered, landing a low blow. The media had often said Billy's rock leaned too much toward pop, ballads, and other softer styles.
–Ha, ha, ha. – Billy smirked, feigning shock. – Rock, pop, whatever I sing—it's still number one on the planet. What else matters? –
–Boo! The star who isn't a star! – Someone heckled. Billy barely registered it.
–The smell of envy always makes me hungry. – Billy shot back.
–Stop messing around and have another drink. –
With a glass of liquor in his hand, he tried to keep up with the drinking circle.
–Drinking contests are the only way to settle this. – Tico, the drummer, chimed in.
He and Connor were deep in drummer talk, both a little too under the influence. And that's when the party truly ignited. Billy drank with renewed enthusiasm, chasing shots like a challenge to be conquered.
Arm in arm with Alec John, they belted out Frank Sinatra tunes, speeding through classics from the '40s and '50s, each taking their turn.
–I think I need to take a piss. – Billy muttered in his drunken haze, ultimately relieving himself out a window.
Laughter roared around him, while some women shot disgusted looks—subtle grimaces of disapproval. But soon enough, the energy shifted again.
The electronic music was blaring.
Billy danced with a stunning, caramel-skinned brunette who moved like a snake, her chocolate-brown eyes intense. They exchanged kisses as the music pulsed, the moment soaking into the atmosphere like an intoxicating spell.
…
A little of this, a little of that—that's all Billy could think as he watched everything spiral into madness. He woke up in bed, completely wasted, with three naked women sprawled beside him. His head pounded in a relentless hangover, making last night's party feel like a cruel joke played by his own choices.
–Shit. Damn old rockers make life completely insane. –
He only recognized the blonde. The others? Strangers. It was a mess—a mess he had willingly walked into. At least he'd used protection. Condoms were scattered across the room like remnants of a reckless night. These women, free-spirited and wild, played the game of "love's disease" without a care.
Billy took a deep breath, letting the air settle inside him.
–Alright, you all need to wake up. – He muttered to the sleeping women.
The clock read 4 p.m. They had partied until four in the morning, but he had gone on until seven. Another wild night—one that blurred the line between reckless fun and unfortunate events.
...