A long party. Billy eventually set his tie aside. It was almost written in stone the way he had wrapped up two film deals for the coming months; it was nearly certain that even more would follow shortly after.
-Well, I think everything turned out better than good. – replied simply the woman standing beside him, a film producer who struggled not to show that radiant, almost blooming happiness, choosing instead to act with careful restraint.
-We'll see each other later. – Billy answered, well aware that there was little left to do at that party. Just as he had predicted, James Cameron was speaking fervently with Helen Hunt, pointing things out animatedly. Monica, meanwhile, stood at the far end of the hall, her high heels making her tower over others.
-Billy, my boy. I'm grateful to finally meet you. – Cameron said.
-From every angle, we each have our place. Titanic is everything we predicted. Months ago, I won a bet with your dear producer, who is now simply collecting the rewards of what was set in motion. – Billy replied, knowing well that one of the grandest bets was, of course, far removed from reality. Helen Hunt was a beauty of her time, her slender body radiant, the gray dress complementing a version of her Billy barely recognized.
Once again, he searched for an exit for her. Everyone wanted to be a producer in some way; it was the most urgent escape route in the film world. For better or worse, all anyone really wanted was work. He lay back with the dull realization that so many people needed to borrow powerful, almost necessary help when they were drowning.
-A talented woman. – James Cameron replied, almost knowingly, despite what still lingered unsaid in the air.
-In fact, she's had a remarkable career. – Billy responded, nearly exhausted. For months now, his life had been rolled up in constant motion. Helen was confident in her own way.
-I have to speak with a few people… I'm just steps away. I'll see you at a meeting; we need to have a long conversation. For months now I've had some good ideas, and you're one of those who seem to stay close to my side. – James replied.
He handed Helen over, who looked slightly flushed, having spent the entire time drifting between people, from one side to another. It was what she needed—a kind of virtual space. She needed her own corner, her own place.
-Hey, dear, nice to meet you. – she replied gently, without looking past his face. There was a pendulum there, each of them making their own decisions. How interesting.
-Well, now you know me. – Billy answered, delicately aware that she was a lively woman, one who seemed inclined to linger at his side, ready to drift into a conversation about art.
-I like how well you've chosen your roles over these years. – she said, stepping closer to Billy. Whatever was to come, even if difficult, would eventually fall into place, indiscriminately but in due time.
-Well, your roles have hit the mark too… but do you assume, then, that it's the roles themselves that make the difference? – Billy asked.
Her eyes lit up.
-I have a prize, and I seem daring. But I fear that, in the end, the only thing that truly matters for us as actors is knowing when to do it better. – Helen Hunt replied. She was thinking of her partner, someone who placed far greater value on people—demanding yet generous. Jack had a remarkable ability to create scripts, making them look simple and easy to adjust. So concise. Yet he possessed everything people needed in the film world, because the months he spent acting were enough to teach him the skills required to shape one's own roles—something he did often, now with an eloquent joy worth pursuing.
-I usually think actors are somewhat underestimated by some people. – Billy replied, believing that dedication could sometimes seem insurmountable along one's own path, a difficult one. The best face of Hollywood. It was truly an unforgettable challenge, etched into people's memories at its peak.
-A long life, one we'll see sometime in the future. – Helen replied simply. Billy took what remained of the moment, and it must be said, he spent as long as he wished talking with the woman who plainly wanted to know him. Seated, resting, he listened closely to the blonde as she leaned over her papers. Drinks came and went in their own rhythm, each of them shaping a quiet understanding in their own way.
-Sometimes the scene itself excites you. Do you remember that take in The English Patient? It felt like it carried two extra degrees of intensity. – Helen said.
Among all things, it was perhaps the gaze of an actor.
-It was simply what the scene required. – Billy replied.
-More than just a scene. She seemed more than willing to continue the take, and perhaps I don't blame her. I've had that kind of feeling before. – Helen replied, seeming to know the lived details of a film where a scene led her to perform in a wonderful, almost overwhelming way.
-Maybe in the future we'll have that. – Billy answered, well aware of what still lay ahead. A restless feeling lingered beneath the conversation, far off in the distance. A new film awaited him, one where the dark-haired woman seemed to linger in the minds of many women. A heated scene.
-Maybe you'll get bored and decide to become a businessman. – she replied, gently, a little amused.
Nora was a good director, just fourteen days away from premiering her film. The people approaching the theaters—each and every one of them—were exactly what she needed: a love story that would once again do what it was meant to do. Even so, everyone pressed against the time that was slipping away.
Nora now wished to perform her ritual: taking a cup of coffee on the terrace of her building. Far away, almost forgotten, above the cities stretching out for countless seconds, people passed by from every possible angle.
Whoever wished to reject it would do so. From distant perspectives, some might not even like art. But for her, that was enough in every sense.
For anyone who chose that path, you have an email—it had all the routine markings of what could be called a successful series. Anyone wanting something more was surely a hardened romantic. How did they weave such a story? It happened because she reconsidered, embraced a touch of adult youth, and filled the spaces with something particularly beautiful: the man who loves slowly, the man who is afraid, and the woman who is vulnerable. That was the true recipe.
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