Pushing open the doors of the tavern, a gust of thick and stifling air from Village Vanguard rushed forth, carrying with it faint murmurs of conversation. Amidst the casual ambiance, there was an air of liveliness. It felt as if after enduring an arduous journey, one had finally departed from the icy and snowy realm of Northern Yue, and the world had suddenly become warmer.
Though it was still early afternoon, there were already over a dozen patrons seated within the tavern. In the midst of the cold winter, people often liked to gather by the bar in the afternoon—just a glass of beer, a plate of peanuts, and a few casual words exchanged—dispelling the chill and solitude of the frozen landscape.
Renly deftly slid the skateboard under the counter at the entrance and walked directly toward the bar. He nodded politely at the neighboring patrons before tapping on the counter, provocatively saying, "A cup of hot water."
In the United States, more accurately, in Western countries, no one drank hot water. Their definition of non-alcoholic beverages was either room-temperature mineral water or fruit juice and soda.
"Sorry, we don't provide hot water here." Neil Tuson furrowed his brows slightly, his tone showing impatience. Coming to a bar and asking for hot water was a peculiar request, but he still answered patiently.
"I insist." Neil heard a response from the bar again. He took a deep breath, suppressing his irritation. As he turned around, preparing to express his frustration, he caught sight of that familiar face. The anger and impatience on his face vanished instantly, replaced by a bright smile. "Hey, buddy, you're back!"
Seeing Neil approaching with big strides, the corners of Renly's mouth involuntarily curved upwards. "So, do I get my hot water or not?"
"Haha, boil it yourself in the kitchen." Neil said cheerfully. He bypassed the bar and gave Renly a big hug, patting him firmly on the back. "Jesus Christ, when did you come back? This season, you should have escaped to Miami, or better yet, to Hawaii. Choosing to return to New York, that's not a wise decision."
"I thought the same way. Maybe I should book a ticket to Guam tonight and enjoy the sunlight there." Renly shrugged playfully.
Neil didn't take that seriously at all. He quickly moved to the side, poured a large glass of dark beer, and placed it in front of Renly. "This is a newly introduced variety, a smoked beer from southern Germany. The flavor is quite unique." He casually placed a hand towel beside it, supporting himself on the bar with both hands, and smiled, "Did you come back this time specifically for our planned Hudson River trip?"
Several months had passed since they last met, and during this time, Renly's career had soared to new heights. Nevertheless, Neil showed no signs of awkwardness. He neither deliberately brought up the buzz in Hollywood, nor feigned normalcy while ignoring it. His narrow eyes gleamed with a sense of pride and excitement, reminding Renly that he had won their initial bet.
Not only had "Cleopatra" entered the top fifty on the Billboard charts, but it had also surged into the top twenty.
Seeing Neil's smug expression, Renly chuckled softly. He arched an eyebrow nonchalantly and said, "If you don't mind this weather, we can set off now."
Neil couldn't help but pause. Taking a joyride on the Hudson River in this season wasn't an enjoyment; it was a punishment. But he had initiated this challenge, so he could only swallow his frustration. He gestured as if he was smacking his own mouth and said, "Summer, rest assured, I'll remember. Let's go together in the summer! Who knows, by that time, "Cleopatra" might have taken the crown?"
This time, Renly didn't argue with Neil. He simply pursed his lips, nodding in affirmation. "Who knows indeed."
Neil's face lit up with joy once again. "I told you, there would be many people who like it. I knew it." His dancing and gesticulating manner seemed to suggest that he, rather than Renly, was the one who had achieved such outstanding results. "By the way, I forgot to congratulate you, Sundance, huh? Finally stepped onto that stage. How does it feel?"
Neil referred to Sundance, not the Oscars. Because they both knew that Renly cared about performing, not fame.
"Once is not enough." Renly pondered for a moment before saying seriously. This response made Neil burst into hearty laughter, nodding repeatedly in agreement. "Indeed, how could once be enough? Let's start looking forward to next year now."
As they spoke, someone else pushed the door open at the bar. Neil looked up, smiled suddenly, catching Renly off guard. The unexpected smile left Renly momentarily confused.
Neil motioned with his chin, and Renly turned to look. He then saw an elderly man with silver-white short hair meticulously combed back. He wore a blue-gray checkered suit that still exuded a chill. Leaning on a dark brown cane, his steps were strong and steady. He methodically removed his hat, scarf, and coat, holding them in his hands. He lifted his head and surveyed the surroundings.
When his gaze fell on Renly, his eyes lit up. Even though there were a dozen steps between them, the foggy eyes seemed to clear like dawn breaking through a valley mist, gradually brightening. The joy of hope and excited exuberance danced merrily between his brows.
Then, he stowed away his cane, striding over briskly. His footsteps were full of passion, seemingly incompatible with his age.
"Since October, he has been coming to the bar every day, sitting here for one to two hours." Neil's explanatory voice reached them. "It's been four months, not a single day missed. Obviously, today, he finally caught you."
Renly was slightly astonished, but before his brain could process the situation, the man was already in front of him. With an eager tone, he asked, "How long will you be staying in New York this time? Do you have two weeks? No, a week is enough. We can head to the recording studio now."
There were no polite pleasantries, not even a simple greeting. The words came crashing down without warning, and there was no sign of stopping. "The song you composed on a show last time, "Your Bones"? It's truly an outstanding piece, you know? I mentioned it to Warner Records and Universal Music, and they're both very interested in you."
"In today's market, folk music simply doesn't sell, and no one even wants to release it anymore. But looking at it from another perspective, this also means that those true folk music enthusiasts can't find excellent albums at all. Once this group's potential is tapped into, the achievements will be unimaginable!"
Chattering incessantly, the monologue continued without pause. Finally, it came to a halt, mainly to catch a breath, as age had started to catch up.
"Beer or whisky?" Renly didn't express any opinions, instead lifting his smoked beer, smiling as he inquired.
The old man was on the brink of getting angry, highly dissatisfied with Renly's reaction. But Renly remained composed. Taking a sip of his beer, he said, "Rest assured, there's plenty of time today, and I have no intention of leaving yet. You can catch your breath first, Mr. Slender."
In this very moment, standing before him was none other than George Strand, the music producer who pursued talent as if it were water in a desert.
Back when he first heard Renly's singing in Village Vanguard, George had steadfastly expressed his desire to collaborate. Unfortunately, Renly's aspirations lay elsewhere; he had then gone on to participate in the Sundance Film Festival, inadvertently sealing Ed Sheeran's fate.
However, Renly had underestimated George's tenacity and stubbornness. For four consecutive months, he had come to Village Vanguard every day, and this streak had occurred during the worst of New York's weather. This level of sincerity was genuinely moving.
George skeptically sized up Renly, finally choosing to sit beside him.
Neil promptly placed a glass of single malt whisky in front of George.
It was apparent that this was George's routine. These minor details revealed his personality. He wasn't just persistent, nor merely stubborn; he was also very sentimental and resistant to change. No wonder he never forgot the past glory and prosperity of the music world.
Renly believed that George's interests weren't limited to folk or jazz; he must have a fondness for the rock golden age, the disco era, soulful vocals of the past... In that era, music could change the world, touch souls, and interpret life.
George seemed to be a true musician, passionately and purely devoted to music. Such individuals had gradually been sidelined in the fast-food age of the internet, unable to keep up with the changing times and reforms. Yet, George had won Renly's respect.
"How's Ed doing lately?" Renly initiated the conversation.
"If you're curious, why don't you go ask him yourself?" George retorted gruffly. Rolling his eyes irritably, he lifted his whisky and took a sip, finally regaining his composure. "He's doing well, having finished recording three songs. He's currently preparing for his debut solo album, diligently working on his compositions behind closed doors."
Ultimately, George chose to provide an explanation. He glanced askance at Renly, adding, "He's a dedicated young man, wholeheartedly immersed in the world of music. It's evident that he truly loves music. Not like certain people who squander their talents, neglect their responsibilities, possessing enviable gifts yet refusing to settle down and create something meaningful. To use their music to move the world."
The implied criticism could have been more explicit, but Renly chuckled softly, unruffled. He just shrugged, "Not everyone can be Martin Luther King, nor does everyone want to be Martin Luther King."
This sentence left George momentarily choked, glaring at Renly with wide-open eyes. It seemed another bout of anger was brewing.
Renly raised his beer glass, smiling as he looked at George. "In British culture, whisky is meant to be savored slowly. If you're merely looking for that burning, releasing sensation, then vodka might be a better choice." Renly's gaze flicked toward the whisky in front of George, then he didn't say much more. He casually lifted his beer glass and took a hearty sip.
George sat beside him, his frustration evident in every pore.