742. Good losers.
“What a great party,” Billy thought as he took in the mansion packed with hundreds of people; every single one of them belonged to the industry, and the drinks seemed to be flowing without restraint. What had Jim Waiit promised, and how much had he spent from his checkbook? Days and days of planning—how much they spent on liquor, how many people were truly invited.
-How much did it cost to bring in that jazz band?- Billy asked Mónica.
-They came for free, my love. Apparently, they’re friends of Winona’s new boyfriend.- Mónica replied with a gentle smile, anything but casual, as what remained was a landscape of everyone caught in a euphoric state.
-Seems like I’ve got people to talk to.- Billy whispered, looking toward those gathered around the table, some of whom he wanted to greet, moving forward without complaint, half a month into it, step by step, accepting whatever was.
Jack Nicholson was a little dizzy from the drinks; everyone danced around him like moths to a flame. He felt like a winner—that was all. He didn’t quite understand what had happened to traditional parties, but the music was good, the mansion wasn’t bad at all, and he had no idea who the people beside him even were.
He tried to catch his breath, but soon enough he had to greet a few of those producers who needed him—those guys who seemed to know exactly who was really in charge. Taking the time to surround himself with directors, famous faces, and nearly all of his friends gathered around the table surprised him the most. What truly struck him was how they claimed that everything happening at the party was mere coincidence, as if fate itself had decided to introduce them to the mega-celebrity, the new cinematic sensation.
-Well, I guess I’ll enjoy it as much as I can,- Jack replied, watching the kid talking to Arnon Milchan, one of the industry’s most dangerous sharks—a man who enjoyed burying careers and often did so with an arrogant way of stepping in. Still, Jack couldn’t deny that the man had a knack for keeping everything organized and in place. A wonderful guy to get tangled up with, though age was clearly catching up to him, right on time. Beside him stood a striking woman: Rebecca, blonde and charming.
-I really like this party,- Jack commented, dancing from side to side, unconcerned, already months away from declaring that festivals were being reborn—and with rebirth came fleeting deals. A world of possibilities. That was how life felt when Jack was in the zone, how dear life itself seemed, how precious its moments were.
Others spun through the air, unrestrained, unwilling to miss a thing. A good feeling lingered; murmurs chewed at the edges of the room.
-So I suppose the awards were a success,- Billy said to Arnon Milchan, fortunate both for his involvement and for the money still left to him. Everything Arnon muttered came with a nod of the head. Steps forward, no pain. But it was a fact: the work of the year was fully aware that the coming months would pass like a breath in the wind. With Regency’s library secured, nothing else mattered. Its slate had won itself an almost eternal stretch of time—forty-five new films to enjoy over the coming months. For his channel, which would commit to four series and seven films, filling entire days with content, as the rights edged closer to a young, fresh audience, squeezing every drop of potential from a network of that scale.
Wonderfully, Billy resolved that whatever remained should be fleeting—and marvelous.
What a deal, he sighed: a six-hundred-million-dollar investment; twenty-five percent of the company secured; new films released; certain profits distributed. And he held positions that would give him an advantage heading into 2010, with a contract they didn’t yet understand—carefully drafted so that in the coming months it would look like an oversight, until the blow finally landed.
His eyes drifted toward companies and their libraries. He could try Amazon. He could try Universal or Paramount. Those were assets worth testing—but being who he was, Paramount was the one he wanted as his primary prize.
…
-You look lost among the lights, like a man few truly know. You’d love to live inside The Great Gatsby,- Jack Nicholson said to Billy, who was watching the party flow, the entertainment unfolding. At that exact moment, fireworks thundered loudly—perfectly timed, precise, overwhelming.
They would pass and deny it. One step. And thus, the turn.
-Well, I paid for all of this, champ,- Billy said, flashing a movie-star smile that sparked both disappointment and wild delight, like a festival of colors flooding the moment.
-Hahaha, of course. How could it be any other way? You’re sharp—you know that. If I had half your talent and half your career at your age, I’d be sailing through the English Channel. And that tells me that even in the worst moments, you’re living from another world. But none of that really matters—I just have to thank you for inviting me,- Jack replied simply, with a hint of ambivalence.
-Do you like my work?- Billy asked.
-Yes, actually, I do. My kids like it too,- Jack replied.
-It would be good to talk about that in the coming days. People tell me you’re a great writer—at least when you choose to be. They say words come easily to you when you’re shaping your roles, and that’s always made me curious. I find it fascinating to talk shop with colleagues,- Billy said, knowing there was no refusal there.
-It could be now. My wife left, my friends are all in the same atmosphere. I was about to head out, but if it’s to satisfy my curiosity, I can make the time. Let me see—by six in the morning, there are three hours left at most,- Jack said, smiling as he sensed the strength, the aura—what people talk about when they see someone who always seems chosen by God. Charisma that speaks for itself. It wasn’t strictly cinematic, even if he acted brilliantly. It was the charisma of someone who seems smarter than you and still has the grace to listen and surprise you; nothing rattles him, nothing pushes him to refuse a word.
-You know, I saw you lose tonight,- Jack said. -I know it’s tough, but let’s start there.-
-What do you mean?- Billy asked.
-That you’re a good loser.-
-Thanks, I guess.-
They both sat down to drink, carefully. They took no care in criticizing each other—every trait laid bare—and took no care to do anything more than the bare minimum required of them.
...