[Chapter 863: The Painful Bond Girl]
Every boy had a vision of a perfect woman in his heart, but William White did not quite agree with that notion. In fact, he was savoring a delicious Sicilian ice cream cone.
"What? It's not about being brand new."
Clearing his throat, he added, "It's a matter of perspective. We just might not see eye to eye. It's not that something new isn't good; it just depends on where you look."
Even though there was a hint of regret, Monica was still delightful. One had to remember, this was the peak of her beauty.
When she shot the film The Talented Mr. Ripley, she was already a bit older; otherwise, she wouldn't have been able to portray such a complex role. Just like now, the girl was obviously still a bit naive.
Without a doubt, Monica was a goddess-level beauty. Speaking of her film achievements, her most notable work might have been The Talented Mr. Ripley.
"What? The Ghost Party?"
Clearing his throat again, he remarked, "This might be the most exasperating Bond film. While previous actors enjoyed rolling in the sheets with beautiful women, Daniel Craig's version seemed to take a turn towards the elderly."
No matter what others thought, when William White watched that film, he was just stunned.
"No way it can be that ridiculous. Imagine you were holding a magazine, suddenly, the person in the magazine appears right in front of you."
"Alright, fine; it was a magazine from thirty years ago."
After this incident, the possibility of experiencing ED was almost at 100%. A friendly reminder: a light touch brings pleasure, while a heavy one leads to disaster.
"Gosh, someone get me some tissues."
"Don't worry about it. Let's head to the bathroom, alright? Someone will clean here."
"Not going, I can't move."
"Alright, my bad. How about I carry you?"
"No funny business; seriously, I'm done here."
"Don't worry, I promise."
Usually, such a promise had a different connotation. How did that one joke go? A monster or worse than a monster.
Some might say, "You're a terrible guy, just jumping from one to the next. At this rate, can your backyard even hold them all?"
They were overthinking things; it was just a social gathering without any special significance. He helped; he extended a pretty solid opportunity.
So, compensation was necessary.
Were there exceptions?
Yes, some directors and producers had different preferences. That wasn't particularly important; if one decided to dedicate themselves to their craft and the other refused, then there was nothing more to say--perhaps they didn't quite match in tastes or were simply focused on their art.
Don't be fooled by the American feminist organizations that seemed to stir things up daily; in reality, it was all pretty futile. Equality didn't exist in America.
Hollywood female stars seldom got opportunities to lead. Audiences preferred the tough, rugged hero types, and producers were inclined towards those. If one claimed gender equality, how could they explain the pay gaps?
With a budget of billions for Tomorrow Never Dies, actors like Monica were lucky to get a few hundred thousand. That was somewhat generous considering.
"35 million dollars? Is BMW insane?"
Lucas threw a scornful glance at George, saying, "You're just a tech guy. Don't think a few years in Hollywood makes you an expert."
"Steve, this movie's budget is a billion, funded entirely by advertisers. White Films hadn't even started shooting and had already made a profit."
"Wait, isn't this just shooting ads?"
"What's so strange about that? Speed, Mr. & Mrs. Smith--they're all in the same vein. White Films didn't even invest much.
William White would say that this is true commercial filmmaking. The Star Wars series should be considered art."
George's face was priceless. Strictly speaking, Forrest Gump shouldn't even be considered an art film.
Star Wars?
"Don't kid around; alright, that one worked out for him; now everything he says is the gospel."
"Wow, that girl is stunning. Is that the latest Bond girl? It looks like she's serving that guy well," Lucas said with a pervy grin while watching the screen.
"What a scoundrel, that guy is like a harvesting machine."
"Steve, you have to get used to this; this is Hollywood. And don't go acting so morally high; you're not much better. William White was right; marriage is fundamentally a business.
Listen to those experts; they say you need to manage your family well. Hahaha."
If William White had known George was mocking him, he would've shot back without hesitation, "No way, I never dumped my daughter outside. Who would say you're crazy? Come on, this is serious, and you thought your bullet wouldn't work? That guy definitely has issues; thinking back on it makes him cry."
"Pizza is Italian, right? No, no, I need to correct you. Monica, this used to be called a pastry; it was invented by a dwarf named Wu Dalang from the Rabbit Country."
"Ha-ha-ha, you're kidding. Marco Polo's notes didn't say anything like that!"
"Dear, forget Marco Polo. That guy was just a fraud. He never went to the Rabbit Country; it was all hearsay.
If he really went, Rabbit people eat with chopsticks; how could he not mention that? Two sticks can work wonders; that's something he didn't write a word about.
Did you know? Dear, I asked my friends from the Rabbit Country, and they told me that Marco Polo was indeed quite a figure; he'd make a great screenwriter."
Monica was shocked. She never expected that a travel log that had circulated in Europe for so long could possibly be fabricated.
"Monica, no need to fret. He indeed never went. But those hearsay items, while they might not fit the timeline, some events did occur."
"Alright, I didn't expect you to actually know so much history."
"What? In your mind, should I be a rich second generation?"
"Ha-ha-ha, I find it hard to imagine. You have all this money, yet you're still working so hard? Honestly, your Italian makes me feel ashamed."
"Thanks for the compliments. Really, you just have a bit of Perugia's accent. Thank goodness it's not Sicilian; otherwise, I wouldn't even dare to speak."
Monica rolled her eyes at him; this charming, funny guy would be perfect to marry. Well, they were about the same age.
If one observed Hollywood closely, they would notice that many gorgeous women ended up marrying directors or screenwriters.
Well, there were also producers.
Wasn't it said that there would be a red couch?
A red couch was fine; it wasn't just about feelings developing over time, right?
To maintain that kind of flirtation, it couldn't just be a simple exchange. If someone had serious issues with cleanliness or exclusivity, ahem, they would need to enter a different state.
After all, they were already quite familiar. It wasn't supposed to be that troublesome, right?
You were mistaken. If it were a real relationship, there were formalities to follow; it wasn't just about two glasses of champagne leading to action. Of course, as long-time comrades, it wouldn't be that complicated.
Three dates, and then there you have it. That was the bare minimum and a standard many girls upheld--or perhaps that was their last semblance of modesty.
"This scoundrel; I cannot believe I lost to a trust fund kid like him!" Soros lamented as he looked at the overwhelming reports. The Wall Street Journal? When did they start covering entertainment news?
"Uh, boss, this guy's team is pretty impressive. In fact, his so-called think tank is larger than many investment banks."
Soros thought that was a given; his assets also surpassed many investment firms. Whether they admitted it or not, if anyone claimed there's a top ten list of investment banks, William White would definitely rank quite well. Remaining oblivious was merely a sign of cowardice.
*****
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