Billy watched as everything flowed, and as the beautiful Monica waved at him, wearing a long summer dress of soft blue fabric that made a bold statement in fashion, but green suited her better, as did red. She was a rose in full bloom when red adorned her, with marvelous grace.
–I hear she’s your date, young man. –said an old man with a cane, dressed in an elegant, tailor-made suit without a label. Billy sensed a different kind of power in him, one that hadn’t been seen with such quiet confidence in a long time.
–She is, sir. –replied Billy, who had no intention of breaking his agreement with Monica.
–Billy Carson, a pleasure to meet you, sir. –he added, fully aware that even if he didn’t care much for these social maneuvers, he understood how useful they could be in the right moments.
–William Domer, a sound businessman. –said the patriarch of the Rockefeller family, who to the public eye seemed extinct, forgotten by time, as if the days themselves had moved on from how famous they once were in the 20th century. Owners of ExxonMobil, Chevron, BP British Petroleum, Marathon Oil, and Conoco Oils, backed by institutional giants like Vanguard, State Street, and significant holdings through Berkshire Hathaway, they maintained a silent wealth, revealing little more than the air of an old family with blue blood still running in their veins.
–Then it’s a pleasure, William… what can I do for you, Mr. Domer? –said Billy, noting the man’s intent. His approach and the timing, just as the second round of the event was about to begin, seemed to be more than a coincidence.
–I’d like to say I have no hidden agenda. But it seems I do—it’s to build a tentative friendship, one where we can support each other’s endeavors. As an oilman, I seek help at every level, and I’ve noticed that your vision, though distant from my industry, offers a fresh perspective. Youth always manages to surprise me. –said William Domer, casting a lure. His real desire was to make Billy his son-in-law and keep the Rockefeller name as America’s greatest, but that strategy was failing to align with the changing nature of modern elite relationships. The new wave of business was shrinking their old world.
–Well, perhaps we can help each other in some other way, from some other angle—it’s not so important. I know very little about oil... perhaps there are other companies better suited. –Billy replied. –The oil market is a mystery to me, but from what I see, it depends on deals and contracts more than anything else.
–Nothing too thrilling, but we’ll talk about that later. For now, let’s enjoy the show—a woman that charming deserves all the attention. –said the old man, gesturing toward Monica.
William Domer spoke slowly, and Billy simply nodded. But after William stepped closer to him, no one else dared approach. Perhaps it didn’t matter who Billy was with—his company alone carried more weight than any crowd.
That thought crossed his mind quickly but vanished as the second part of the fashion show began. Each model sparked conversation—Naomi Campbell, Monica Bellucci, Karen Mulder, and Kate Moss, who was just emerging as an intriguing figure. The luxury lineup was striking. Each of them was uniquely beautiful and radiated an aura that would later inspire their successors, starting with the Victoria’s Secret models in lingerie, who would go on to walk for Chanel, Versace, Dior, Calvin Klein, and other pillars of the fashion world.
Though the room was silent, the models’ command of the runway was powerful.
Fashion—what a satirical word. Dresses no one would wear day to day. Maybe some would try on those gold-thread skirts, driven by the opulent pricing aimed at the elite.
–It’s maddeniny. I feel like part of a circus. The more I watch, the more I just want to grumble and leave. In my mind, I start doing math or recalling meetings. –said William Domer, his gaze fixed ahead, fully aware of the dissonance behind these events.
–Beauty always finds its place here. I watch the lights, the billboards, the stares—why are they so striking? What makes something beautiful? Uniform fashion, or abstract? –said Billy. –But really, I just do it to pass the time. I take in the moment at my own pace.
Monica arrived, catching her breath. She now wore high-heeled sandals, short white shorts, and a cherry-red blouse. She wore a joyful expression as she extended a quick wave.
In New York, with fashion week in full swing, the most influential circles gathered, each seeking their opportunities. Billy was at a grand party. The guests seemed idle, but some models moved with purpose, trying to make their connections.
–She always tries to get an edge when it comes to sponsors. They have this system—get them drunk, then claim they slept with them. But the guys are blacked out drunk and just go along with it, pretending they remember. It’s disgusting. –Monica whispered, fully aware that women fought their own battles in a world that kept slipping out of reach. She couldn’t judge them—many of these behaviors stemmed from the constant abuse women in the industry endured. True cruelty.
–So it’s a defense mechanism. –said Billy.
–Exactly. People can do what they want, but the circles we form are a shield. The most famous ones won’t dare break away—unless we say so. –Monica replied. Billy watched as people moved on their terms.
–It’s true, there are different dynamics with some people. Movie stars, top athletes, and a few rich men who carry clout and aren’t total jerks. –said Monica. A stunning blonde laughed candidly as she spoke with an older man with blond-gray hair.
–There’ll be a private party later. Those are the fun ones. –Monica added.
Behind Billy, William Domer kept watching him, ready to leave.
Billy ended up in a small Manhattan penthouse, surrounded by models and some American football players—big names, apparently, though he didn’t recognize them. His mind gravitated more toward basketball, baseball, and soccer; football was a complete mystery.
That might be true, but the energy was looser now—livelier. Women danced, sharing in the uninhibited madness these parties usually offered.
–Tell me, Billy, how did Monica get so lucky to have you? –asked a mysterious woman with long blonde hair, shiny lips, and a dazzling dress.
–I think I’m the lucky one. –Billy replied with charming sincerity.