Hollywood Dreams

④ | 𝒥𝑜𝑒𝓁

If there was something Joel Delaney loved more than music, it was cocaine. That remarkable white powder, for which he owed thanks to South American drug cartels, always managed to give him the right boost. At nineteen, he took it in the morning, sometimes at lunch, and almost always in the evening. He was a pop singer with millions of fans worldwide. He felt great. So what if his music in the last album was crap, and he couldn't produce anything new? The album sold well, but the critics were certainly not kind.

"You should change your environment. You should take a detox break. You should collaborate with Eminem," his manager Mike used to tell him until one day Joel advised him to stuff it. He didn't need any advice. After all, he was a damn star, and he could do whatever he wanted.

He rose to fame three years ago in Ireland, singing as the frontman of the three-member boy band Emerald Tribe, which he founded with his cousins. At that time, they performed at local festivals, and several catchy songs managed to make their way onto European radios. As is often the case, they disbanded after initial disagreements. Joel returned to his hometown of Cork and was about to hang up his music career, but family conflicts forced him to give it another try. Using saved money, he recorded songs in a small studio, composed on the road, and released them in a solo album. This time, success was international.

He had talent, but along with it, a decent supply of childhood traumas, which reflected in his lifestyle. The Delaneys belonged to a group of people who identified themselves as Irish Travelers. Joel, much like his numerous siblings, grew up in a caravan on the outskirts, trying to survive in an environment dominated by his father's fist. James Delaney enjoyed his drink, and when he was inebriated, he would lash out at anything within arm's reach. It didn't matter if it was his wife, children, the horses he owned, or the dogs. And since he was a former boxer, he rarely missed. All of this later reflected in Joel's lifestyle. He moved to sunny California, started indulging more in alcohol, and spent post-concert time in exclusive nightclubs where he was surrounded by sexy girls of all kinds. He liked showing off with them in front of paparazzi, presenting them as his latest girlfriends. The lavish party continued at his beach house in Venice, where there was always plenty of alcohol and various drugs. Tabloids loved him because he always provided them with enough quality material. Drunk Joel Delaney vomiting on the sidewalk. Joel Delaney with a marijuana joint. Joel Delaney with a famous porn actress who took a selfie with him in his bed. Joel Delaney was simply a big star with a big problem.

On that day, Mike woke him up at eleven. "Get up, Joel. You need to get dressed and go to the studio."

The blond head angrily pulled the covers over itself. "Get lost."

"This time it's serious; according to them, you missed the deadline in the contract," Mike explained, ignoring the naked girl who smiled and disappeared from the bed. She was a beautiful redhead with an interesting thigh tattoo. Mike was used to crowds of similar girls. She quickly gathered her things from the floor and giggled as she left the room.

"For heaven's sake. Well, at least bring me some water," grumbled the mountain of white blankets with a pronounced Irish accent. Suddenly, a groggy Joel loomed in front of Mike, and unsurprisingly, completely naked. He had bloodshot emerald eyes, and his sinewy figure was adorned with blue hickeys. Obviously, it was a busy night.

"But you look," Mike shook his head, pulling a small bottle of Evian from the mini-fridge.

"Thanks," Joel mumbled, gulping it down.

"Now get dressed. We have a serious problem," he reminded him unyieldingly.

It turned out that Sparkle Records, the music studio, had hired the best lawyers and was determined to take action. Joel had delayed new song lyrics for three months, and the studio was not willing to wait any longer. He was given an ultimatum. Either he sings songs written by other lyricists, or they terminate his contract and sue him for breach of terms. Joel would have sent them straight to hell, but millions of dollars were at stake, so he tried to rein in his temper.

"I won't sing someone else's songs!" he raged in the limousine on the way back. "My music is personal, and that's why it sells. I won't sing words that mean nothing to me!"

"So you better come up with something very quickly," Mike told him. He was accustomed to Joel's outbursts. Throughout his career, he represented many singers who thought they were kings of the world. "Look, you have one more month. The studio wants lyrics for at least one song, and that shouldn't be a big problem for you."

After the concert tour, he had an artistic crisis. A window. A significant creative block. While Joel was lost in thought, Mike's phone rang.

"Yes?" he answered it irritably, but then his face froze, and he listened for a very long time. "Yes. Of course. Consider it done. Goodbye."

"What's done?" Joel asked. He hated it when someone manipulated his life, even though it was essentially Mike's job. Taking care of him to make millions.

"Henry Goldstein's secretary called me. He's supposedly your fan, and he would love to hear you at his party he's organizing tomorrow."

All Joel knew about Henry Goldstein was that he was a big shot in the film industry. "Arrange it. But I want to have my own team and equipment there."

"You don't understand, do you?" Mike's eyes gleamed as if he had just stumbled upon a treasure chest.

"What should I understand?"

"Goldstein's company almost always wins an Oscar for their films. It's been rumored for a while that Henry Goldstein is preparing some billion-dollar blockbuster, the masterpiece of his career. Do you think it's a coincidence that he wants you to sing at his party?"

Joel finally brightened. "You think he wants me to sing the opening song?"

"I bet my annual salary on it."

"And what is it about, anyway?"

"I heard it's supposed to be a remake of the sci-fi film Avalon. It's an old Oscar-winning classic," Mike explained.

The film to which he lends his voice. The idea immediately thrilled Joel, but then he remembered that today he was painfully clean. "I need to go to the bathroom," he informed Mike as soon as they arrived at the luxurious restaurant.

"Mr. Delaney, I'm delighted that you honored us with your visit today," the owner gushed and quickly made sure that Joel and his entourage got the best table.

Joel ignored him andheaded for the toilets. There, he locked himself in one of the gleaming stallsand opened a golden box where he kept his cocaine. "I'm glad to see youtoo," he whispered and snorted a rich dose. What would stars do without stardust?

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