Chapter Ninety-Five: The Wealthy Patron

Apart from a few people with other arrangements who left early, most of them were eager to get a look at the behemoth.

Add a skull-and-crossbones flag, and this giant machine would truly have a pirate’s air about it.

The jet parked at Houston International Airport could only be described as spectacularly cool.

“Welcome aboard.”

“Thank you.”

The flight attendants from United were rather nice, and William White nodded his thanks.

“Damn, boss, is everything up there made of solid gold? Can I chip off a piece and take it home?” Jason Gao wore a thoroughly sleazy grin.

William White shook his head with a wry smile. “There are spare parts at my villa in Los Angeles. It’s just gold leaf. Expensive, yes, but not solid gold. What’s pricey is the craftsmanship.”

He could only say that much to keep the fool from ruining his plane. The idiot did not care about value; all he wanted was a souvenir.

Houston was not far from Los Angeles, and the flight ended before long. Several of the bastards were obviously still unsatisfied, already shouting that they should be allowed to use it for the summer vacation and the like.

William White did not mind. He was indeed planning to have some fun over the summer. If all he knew how to do was make money, would he not become a slave to money?

Tonight was the Republican fundraising banquet, and his current denim outfit was clearly inappropriate. Besides, there would not be much to eat at an event like that. He had to fill his stomach first, then clean himself up properly.

Los Angeles had always been a stronghold of the Democrats, yet this time things were rather different.

As an actor, Reagan had been a complete flop. Later generations called him a second-tier star, but that was nonsense. If you had never even played a leading role, what second-tier star were you supposed to be?

His acting career had been unremarkable, but as a politician he was beyond reproach. To stir up a commotion in a Democrat stronghold was by no means an easy feat.

After finishing the last bite of steak, William White returned to his room to wash up. Once he had made himself presentable, he began his skin-care routine.

The Christmas holiday was over, and the people who looked after him had returned: hairdressing, skin care, massage.

William White had once again become more than half disabled. After some time adapting, he had grown used to such a life. Thinking of his second-rate adolescent years in his previous life, he could not help but smile. So this was what they meant by not appreciating one’s blessings while living in comfort.

“Mr. White, your suit is ready. Allow me to help you.”

“Thank you, Jenny,” William White said with a smile and a nod.

The suits of this era resembled armor. The lapels on both sides were deliberately enlarged and widened, making the upper body look extraordinarily broad.

William White did not like that design. It gave him the uncomfortable feeling of being top-heavy. At a height of six foot four, he was simply not suited to that style.

He was already built like an inverted triangle. If his shoulders were deliberately broadened as well, the result would look rather strange no matter how one saw it.

But too much novelty would not do either. He had no intention of entering the fashion world, so a slight modification was acceptable. In any case, all his suits were custom-made, so there was no issue.

Even now that he was rich, the British style of tailoring was still more than he could bear.

Leaving aside the cost, their tailors had to fly back and forth at least several times to finish the job. That alone was enough to leave him speechless.

Besides, he was still growing. These suits would be lucky to last a year. The most likely outcome was constant alterations, and without at least a year they would never be truly finished.

With Jenny’s help, William White was quickly dressed to the nines, polished and immaculate, his hair swept into a neat knot that would have made even a fly skid off.

Though he had every right to act grand, there was no need. At a party of this caliber, a younger man still could not afford to be rude. People would say he had no breeding.

Fundraising in America was complicated. It was not as simple as tossing over a check. Individual donations were subject to strict limits. Of course, there were a dozen ways around that, but those were other people’s problems.

A million dollars in this era made one a major patron. It was not only about money. He also had enormous influence among the young. Right now, all sides were trying to win him over; no one would dare provoke such a man.

If one asked what kind of banquet was most boring in this world, this would be it, and without question.

William White was no stranger to dealing with such people. Charity banquets, even at their best, were only marginally better. These two kinds of gatherings were surely the ultimate expression of human hypocrisy.

In his previous life, William White would have felt an urge to vomit. Now he did not. Instead, these scenes even gave him considerable inspiration.

And he was probably not the only one thinking that way. William White even believed that many people might step outside and spit the moment they left the door.

The only thing worth celebrating was that this was Los Angeles after all. Not only were there Hollywood power players, there were also plenty of beautiful young women.

William White kept studying their evening gowns, pondering all manner of ways to get inside them, until he finally reached one conclusion: the restrooms of this era were still fairly clean, and no one could make a move in them quickly.

He was admiring the beauties, and they were admiring him in return. Fresh young men were always in demand, especially a fresh young man with real talent.

Soon, William White decided to give up. The lethal power of those girls was a little too great, and he was almost unable to rein in his little brother. For safety’s sake, he decided to distract himself.

Scanning the room, he spotted a small circle of men, grabbed a glass of champagne, and walked over.

“Two senior alumni, I’m William White. Do you mind if I join you?” William White asked with a smile. Addressing them as fellow alumni was his way of narrowing the distance between them.

After all, in Hollywood today, aside from White Pictures, these men were formidable figures in their own right.

Ever since the success of Star Wars, the two good friends Lucas and Spielberg had become truly unstoppable. They were both graduates of the University of Southern California. Though calling them senior and junior schoolmates was a bit strained now, given the long passage of time, since they were not from the same generation.

Still, William White could say it without problem. He himself was now a heavyweight, and speaking this way was simply a show of respect. He had no intention of ingratiating himself too blatantly.

“Of course not. We were just talking about your films,” Lucas said with a smile. “They’re making far too much money.”

The others also raised their glasses in greeting.

“Just luck, really. Maybe audiences have changed their tastes, and I happen to like comedy,” William White said with a laugh. At the level they were operating, anything else would have sounded wrong.

After greeting everyone in the circle, William White learned that Lucas was raising investment money. He only had to listen to the introduction for a moment before he recognized it: the famous Indiana Jones.

Of course he was interested in investing in this film, but unfortunately Lucas was unwilling to let go of the sequel rights.

To be honest, the most exciting installment in this series was the third. The first two were certainly good as well, but William White did not feel compelled to win them at all costs.

Even though the box office would surely exceed one hundred million, the production budget for this film was not low. It would take at least thirty million dollars, and once Lucas and Spielberg had their share of the profits, the margin would amount to little enough.

A film certain to succeed. If it lost its sequel rights, the profits from merchandise and related projects would also be affected.

Perhaps William White’s negotiating skills were lacking, because Lucas was very hesitant and only agreed to consider it. Spielberg felt it did not matter. If they really could not secure the funding, White Pictures would also be a good choice. At the very least, their film promotion and distribution could be called a model for the industry.