Billy took a sip of wine while Winona scanned the room, reading Pride and Prejudice for what must have been the hundredth time as she prepared for her interview to play the character Kathleen. She used to read all the great classics and many short stories, but anything bearing the name Jane Austen passed through her hands. She hadn't been much of a reader before starting this role—one that now had her life consumed by books. For months, she'd known how much she adored reading; the sense of obligation was long gone. Now she loved it. It was one of those coincidences in life where you trade fleeting moments for the grand waltz of existence.
–What do you see? –asked Winona.
–The company's income statements. We're doing preliminary closings for December, and by the end of the year we'll have to present the February report. –Billy replied, his eyes fixed on the documents. His fine suit and perfectly tied tie, matched with a green pocket square, reflected the image of a 21st-century businessman with a taste for classic elegance. He wore a well-groomed beard and slicked-back hair that framed his face with deliberate precision. Everything about him spoke of refinement—a sleek Omega watch, a gift from his father, added a subtle touch of rebellious charm to his honest, magnetic aura.
–Did you read the book I told you about? –Winona asked, now fully focused on Billy, who carried himself with an effortless grace, perhaps because he already embodied the essence of a capitalist who knew how to turn money into more money.
–I'm reading it, though Anton Chekhov feels far more gracious when it comes to themes of loneliness. His prose seems born to glorify love during long winters. –Billy answered, his radiant smile seeming crafted to persuade anyone, from anywhere. He had that clever, fearless manner of negotiating with the privileged.
–Then you must finish it, because I've already bought the next one, and we have to have an intriguing conversation about your thoughts. –Winona replied sweetly, her demeanor gentle and composed, like Kathleen's. For months now, her heart had leapt in his presence, yet she followed Billy's acting methods strictly—his process was as precise as the techniques used in Nora Ephron's films. Ephron, a woman seemingly born to write timeless love stories, had been creating cinematic magic since the 1980s, now firing off her final brilliant shots in the world of directing.
–His fiction is complex. It reflects that Russian life is caught between detachment and a whimsical yet compassionate concern for its characters. There's a tenderness in his lines, a depth of understanding that makes me want to explore how he builds such satirical figures from czarist society. –Billy said.
–So you liked The Chameleon, then? –Winona sighed.
–Actually, yes. It's quite fascinating how Ochumelov keeps wavering between blaming the dog or the bitten man, until it's revealed that the dog belongs to General Zhigalov. –Billy replied.
–Well, I'd say you're passable. –Winona teased.
–I've got about ninety pages left, I think—his short stories. –Billy said.
–Then your next read is Wuthering Heights. –Winona said, handing him a hardcover book with worn edges and delicate details. Some pages were illustrated; the paper was exquisite. It was one of those fine editions clearly made for distinguished collectors—beautiful, gently aged, and deeply cared for.
–I suppose we can do everything you want. –Billy replied.
–Then we'll sit and read together—and watch that TV series everyone's talking about. –Winona said.
A breath. A way of seeing each other.
…
Months seemed to blur together—or perhaps draw closer from opposite ends. A haze of transitions, from one shot to another.
Workers, electricians, masons, carpenters—all busy in what looked like the construction of a massive store. Cables dangled everywhere.
Kevin: Called the electrician. His truck hit a deer last night; he won't make it until tomorrow. The shelves are delayed because the pine shipment had beetles. And there's some question about whether we're putting the stairs in the right place.
Joe: Sounds great.
Kevin: Testing one, two, three, four.
Joe: Is the electrician here?
Kevin: I just told you—he hit a deer.
Joe: I can't hear a thing. Not a sound from the city streets, just the beating of my heart.
Yeah. Something like that.
His acting style was rough, irreverent; his manner carried a kind of rebellion and demand. No wonder people were taken aback by him. His behavior made clear the contrast between businessmen. Nora, though slightly displeased, couldn't help but note Billy's weighty presence—his intensity tempered by that fragile sensitivity that made Kathleen glimpse his humbler side.
Kevin
(beginning to catch on)
–You and Patricia got engaged?
Joe: Engaged? Are you crazy?
Kevin: I thought you liked Patricia…
Joe: I love Patricia. Patricia's amazing. Patricia makes the coffee shop people nervous. (Suddenly serious) Are we still on schedule?
Kevin: We open two weeks before Thanksgiving.
Joe: Guess we should start announcing it. Let people know we're coming.
Kevin: This is the Upper West Side of Manhattan. Once they hear, they'll line up—
Joe: —to protest…
Kevin: The big bad…
Joe: …chain store—
Kevin: …that destroys…
Joe: …everything we hold dear. But we'll win them over with our square footage, our cushy armchairs, our lightning-fast checkout lines, our discounts, and our…
Joe and Kevin (triumphantly): cappuccino.
Joe: They'll hate us at first, but in the end, we'll win them. In the meantime, we should put up a sign: Coming Soon—Foxbooks Superstore, and the End of Western Civilization as We Know It.
–Cut.–
…
–Billy, take it from the top. –said Nora from her seat. She knew they needed at least three takes, but it was perfect for what they were creating—a kind of conceptual art, where people were the canvas, and she held the brush.
–Sure. –said Billy, glancing at Winona, who was chatting casually. Her eyes sparkled, catching every angle. She focused on the production island, taking in the challenge of giving a great performance—something she deeply cherished.
–All right, everyone, back to your marks. –called the woman from her director's chair.
...