halftime.
Even though it was difficult, despite the complexities of acting and the constant stream of people approaching her, trying to be helpful, Monica—despite all her power—was mentally fragile. The job was suffocating her. She didn't even realize when her days began to blur, one into the next, without noticing time slipping by. She found herself overwhelmed, and those doubts made her uneasy.
–Hey, you got something,– said Cindy Crawford. Her body, effortlessly striking, was dressed in light jeans and a long black shirt. She was one of those captivating women who could gossip beautifully and still look stunning.
Monica lifted her delicate cheekbones and let her long black hair fall in soft waves, elegant and striking. Surprised, she received a bottle of wine, along with two of Billy's novels in Italian, soon to be published. And as if that wasn't enough, there was also a sleek pen, a fine handbag, and her favorite makeup—simple luxuries that hinted at the kind of presence that naturally draws people near.
–Well, a gift,– Monica whispered.
–You look desperate,– Cindy remarked.
–It's been obvious for a while now—you're depressed,– Naomi added, stepping closer. All three women were contemporaries, born around the same time. Their partners were famous, but they each simply did what was expected of them. Time was complicated—different from what came after and luckier than what came before. They seemed caught in an era full of indulgences, trapped at the center of a world that often felt ugly and draining.
–I'm just tired of working, – Monica replied. –Lately, I don't even know why I work so much. It's depressing to see how busy I am, to the point where even the things I enjoy feel burdensome. –
–Ah, darling, yes… we get it. There's nothing glamorous anymore. It's official. Even I find it maddening that people seem to care less and less about fashion every day, – said Linda Evangelista, one of the industry's veterans, forever passionate and unapologetic. Her green eyes and sharply angled features could put symmetry to shame.
–Twenty more days, love. In twenty days, you'll be on a long vacation. At least we're in Milan. We'll head to Paris and visit that restaurant far off, the one with that amazing lamb—even if we're feeling a little indifferent about it, – Cyndi added, trying to soothe the tension.
–You sound like a girl in love, – Naomi teased. –When are we going to meet this guy? The great and mighty Billy Carson, who can rule over any company within reach. He's always struck me as… different. There's something about him. –
–He's intense. Very intense when it comes to money. I can say without a doubt he's ruthless… but now he's so sweet. I didn't expect that. He's still very young—kind of… You know, strange. But honestly, sometimes I don't even know what's going on in people's heads, – Monica replied, her voice tinged with indifference.
The women fell silent, slipping back into their thoughts. They had given so much of themselves, only to find they could offer the bare minimum now. Maybe they were indifferent—or maybe they never really took the time to listen. The art world seemed to drift further and further away.
Tied to contracts or cast aside for something else, Monica had brushed up against something in her heart—cold and shallow—from every angle.
Billy took a deep breath, like accepting an unspoken truth. He answered the call, knowing that in the next fifteen steps, he would try to do everything that needed to be done.
–You sound sentimental, – Billy said.
–I am, actually, – Monica replied.
–Twenty days. I'll talk to Jim. You need to stop working for the next six months. 1997 was too much for you, – Billy answered.
Monica sighed on the other end of the line. She was undone by the tenderness in his voice, the way he treated her with such care and compassion. Who wouldn't melt at something so simple?
–I don't know if that's the solution. But… it might be nice—for me and for life, – Monica said.
–I wouldn't mind it, – Billy replied as he watched the waves roll in. –But honestly, I don't think you're built for this grind. Come and be my co-pilot. I've had a long, heavy run. I need you here, though things are better now. –
–I want to, and I don't, – Monica answered.
–You've got my options. I'll wait for you. And if I can't, just call me, – Billy said.
…
In the time that followed…
What can someone do when they no longer need anything? What can a man hiding in the shadows truly do? What can his peers do? Billy ended his day with a glass of wine, trying to calm his mind. He needed a little extra clarity, a way to stop his thoughts from spiraling. Dreams, no matter how vivid, weren't always what he needed.
–So, when they come close, we turn left, – Billy said, rehearsing the vault room assault. The sequence was tight and urgent. They were practicing how to make the scene flow.
–Then Billy turns, and we go for the explosions, – said the montage director. The blasts were just smoke and rubble.
–We'll reinforce the walls with Styrofoam and a bit of moldable clay, – added Zach, the mastermind behind pushing ideas to their limits. Several producers were hired—action film consultants who carefully choreographed every punch and redemption arc.
–We'll use stunt doubles, but we'll shoot the scene four times. It's just rehearsal, so I don't think we'll need anything extra, – Zach said.
Matrix 2 would begin shooting in the coming days. It was all but confirmed. The next steps were crucial. No one could say otherwise. Two more films were planned—less screen time for Billy, but more intricate production. The Wachowski brothers would use their dual strengths to direct. Larry would handle Billy's scenes, while Andy would oversee the others, filming simultaneously. The two brothers seemed to read each other's minds, even if their approach made everyone else a little uncomfortable.
...