June 25, 1998.
Matrix was hovering around 450 million at the box office, and life seemed to flow toward the idea that everything was perfectly obvious. Now, all that remained was for that figure to rise by another 200 million, and they would recover the entire cost of production along with the marketing carried out over the past six months. For anyone, that was a marvel—especially since there were still two films of great quality left, destined to become one of the trilogies of the era. Released eight months apart, they allowed audiences to accept that the grand prize was still to come, with the final installment arriving in December 1999, closing out an era and delivering a message that was, at the very least, a sublimation of other ideas already present in the film.
-—Billy Carson's next movie is Sleepy Hollow.— Billy read aloud, now understanding that even renowned directors saw, within what they called success, a way to generate life. And that life, in the end, meant that Tim would use all of Billy's fame to take his film exactly where it needed to go. They were everywhere in the media; the photo of him in a black suit was now likely to be the cover image for the next thirty days.
With only one week left before production on Sleepy Hollow began, this was the time Billy would use to take advantage of what little remained—simply to fulfill the grand fair. Italy was special to him, especially now that before him lay Monica's homeland, so beautiful that choirs seemed to sing her name and flowers breathed in her essence: her long black hair, her well-cared-for skin now touched with a spicy hue, and her eyes, which were the very expression of depth.
-—I've seen it twice, but this is the first time I'm watching it in Italian.— Monica commented, moving closer to him. Her whole demeanor shifted from something unreachable to something entirely unique, bound to the idea that she was, indeed, the partner he desired.
-—We'll watch it in Italian.— Billy whispered, in imperfect Italian that lingered in the air. Now it was she who carefully taught him how to speak the language. Each word carried weight, traveling from the tip of his tongue to the smallest nuance—and that nuance was nothing more than a soft sigh.
-—I heard you bought a small town in Italy.— Monica said.
-—Your parents' town.— Billy replied. —I bought it for you and your family, so they can continue living where they have lived for generations. All that's needed is to improve the lives of the citizens a little, and the town will grow clean and beautiful, free from human neglect.—
She held his gaze, her pupils filling with that familiar desire that said so much, though her tongue was left speechless. All she could do was rest her head against him in an embrace; the beating of Billy's chest was what she longed for.
-—Then I think I surrender to you.— Monica replied. She knew firsthand that the house he had built near her family's home was utterly beautiful. Now she held a lovely ground floor that served as a garden and a small art salon, tailored to her tastes, while the upper floor filled with portraits and books he himself selected.
-—Well then, let me tell you.— Billy said. —We have two films that will be huge, and I've hired two directors who will bring what we call the next entries to life. Cleopatra will be in the hands of Steven Spielberg, and The Lady from Shanghai, in a European version, will be directed by Bernardo Bertolucci.— Billy spoke, fully aware that both pieces were coming together. Each had a marvelous and ambitious lens, and now, with both directors at the peak of their talent, they would bring to life two films that, for Billy, represented a transition—from the mega-commercial to true art. And there were new roles as well.
She was astonished. Bertolucci was perhaps one of the greatest directors she could ever name.
-—So he said yes?— she asked, utterly amazed.
-—He hasn't said yes yet, but he's promised that if he makes the film with this casting—you and me—the rest will be entirely up to him, his vision, his image. I can say I tempted him with films, and I even promised that, in every respect, I would return a favor of equal caliber.— Billy replied. He knew that a favor from him was never a small thing; day after day, he found success and wealth that few could ever imagine.
She sighed. That was what she had asked for, and all she wanted was exactly that: to settle into roles of strong women, different women, driven into suspense, into the dichotomy between life and duty, between strength and gender—essential to understanding how life reacts. For her, everything now pointed toward unwavering support, something she was given freely, and it was no empty vessel filled with water.
-—Then I'll have to practice.— she whispered.
-—Not at all. Wait for the scripts to arrive. Cleopatra will take time because of the production, and it will help that Cameron gives us certain ideas—this is a mega-production.— Billy replied.
-—But Cameron and Spielberg…—
-—It's simply respect. The director is Spielberg, the producer is Cameron. He wanted something else, which I've already given him.—
-—What is it?—
-—More money for his next trilogy. He wants to make another Terminator film and a Spider-Man series of four movies.— Billy replied, leaving Monica speechless. He had no fear of the money at all.
-—That's a lot.—
-—Not at all. Think about it: I'll make so much money with Matrix that I'll have enough to do Cleopatra and a hundred independent films without breaking in the process.— Billy replied, now certain that his plan was a forge meant to enrich many people.
-—Well, I think it's better not to talk about money. It terrifies me.— Monica said.
-—It's nothing to worry about. In the future, it will all just be an idea between you and me.— Billy said, understanding her.
-—Money as an idea.—
-—Money as a means to make more money. I trust our talent and our fame, and the hands of many who will see the film. We'll make art feel necessary through storytelling. For that, we must trust high-quality screenwriters and directors who can work magic with shots and scenes.— Billy replied, thinking it was a shame he never had time to work with Stanley Kubrick.
But he was certain he would call everyone—
to bring it all to life.