Who wants to hide from nonsense? Now he had a shaved head—at least all the time. It helped to just keep his hair cut short. He wore a film prosthetic, featuring small incisions that looked like tubes running from his skin into his brain, though no one seemed to notice anything more.
–You're a bombshell, –said Andy.
–I do what I can, –Billy replied.
–You're not the best with action scenes, but you're definitely brave when it comes to drama. You've got that modern edge that brings a sharp, raw reality to it. Ahh, you're brilliant in those roles. No wonder Cameron cast you in something like Titanic, and why you landed Almásy. I watched The English Patient—you were so charming, maybe a bit too young for the role, though, –Andy said.
–They aged me up, –Billy laughed, sipping some water. –Although, yeah, no doubt, it was tough for me—playing a fictional character, one with questionable motives. But I did it. Now I wonder if it was the right choice… maybe I rushed into it.–
–It was the right move. From where I stand, working on those roles sharpened your character work. Before, you did your job. But those films gave you a framework, one that's not easy to define or replicate, –Andy said. Even though his focus was usually elsewhere, his own method acting gave him strengths only demanding productions could hone. Entering that unknown mental zone, taking on something without immediate grasp, was a dissonant challenge—one few came out of unscathed.
–Then I'm afraid I have to go, –Billy said, seeing the next scene was about to be shot—one he didn't care for at all.
As he waited for them to film the final scenes—the ones, truth be told, he had no personal take on—he couldn't help but rely on method acting. Being lost in thought or emotionally adrift became essential. His Neo was finally gaining depth. His hesitations were now deliberate, another level of interpretation. Every way he performed seemed to pull him deeper into the role. Billy added a colder layer to his process, more difficult than usual. He often looked serious, filled with a strength no one talked about—undeniably kind, yet somehow avoiding kindness, as though shying away from a gesture too easily romanticized. Everything gave off a quiet embrace.
He did what he did best—acted on autopilot. A specific, unique style. Outside the Matrix, all he could express was exhaustion or fatigue. That was the goal. And he delivered.
***
Computers and phones were on the verge of being considered true modern work. The company was booming. But Jobs moved through it all with swagger. What was shocking was how Billy could still throw him off, even without being directly involved. It was a strange, complicated truth.
And it was all thanks to the financial director—a title Billy had given her the moment he saw how this young woman had managed to break down a policy no one had dared touch before. Or maybe it was just her relentless, theoretical approach. Her only aim was to follow Billy's trail—a visionary path few could grasp.
–It's great that we've got such strong projects, –Rachel said, seeing they had already tackled half of the workload.
–Of course we did, –Steve Jobs answered, not wanting to start—or finish—that conversation. That's what happened whenever he talked to her. She never said anything pointless, but her tone was so harsh and blunt that she wore down anyone with even a drop of reason.
–Well, only halfway. Let's be honest—some folks can't do their jobs properly. They ruined the design just because of a few USB ports. Honestly, a complete waste of time, –Rachel said. She was visibly annoyed at how the computer had been handled. The iMac G3 was a production model with solid development—a 466 MHz processor, double the processing power they had started with. They had partnerships with Autodesk, Adobe, and Microsoft software. A new color graphics card was being prepared, adding a stunning visual touch. Blue and white—perfect branding that echoed the company's original identity. No fluff. Just clean, effective design. Anything else was pointless.
–I suppose it's hard for anyone to do a great job, –Rachel said. –Sometimes I wish Billy would take over. We'd already have contracts with the military and NASA. They'd back us completely.–
–So what do you want? –Steve asked.
Rachel made a face, placing her hand on her chest. She knew exactly what she was feeling—a deep unease, the torment of loss, and the challenges that kept twisting through her life. It was unbearable for everyone, especially those who knew her. She was sharp, the kind that got under everyone's skin.
–Well, since I've got some time, I'd like to point out a few things. Just the kind of details that actually make life better. For instance, sound—we need better audio. A dual operating system that adds instead of subtracts. Your company, NeXT, hasn't really delivered anything compelling. A hard drive with at least 64 gigs, and RAM of at least 1.5 gigs—something we can actually work with, –Rachel said. So blunt. She had that way of turning technical critique into ironic realism.
–Then let me be clear—without reason, –Steve replied. –We'll make more versions. But you're asking for miracles.–
–Anyone with an ounce of courage would at least try, –Rachel said, leaving Jobs with a tone so dismissive it felt like a challenge. A silent contract. And of course, he knew it.
–What else can anyone do? –Steve muttered to himself. He was proud. Three products—a desktop computer, an iPod, and a laptop—are deservedly iconic. Maybe that was enough.
...
Rachel couldn't help but laugh four blocks away. She was certain Jobs would get the job done right. Always so intense. Now that Raimon had promised to send over the full investment, without hesitation or rejection, she was completely confident.
Even if fear still lingered somewhere in the background.
...