This six-day Milan Fashion Week features eleven runway shows between nine in the morning and eight in the evening on the second day alone.
Gucci, however, is unquestionably the only star of the day; Prada, Armani, Fendi, Versace and other Italian luxury houses have all shifted their own shows to avoid clashing with it.
Once the Gucci show ends, most of the press and guests stay on, only a few rush off to other appointments. After the photo call and interviews, Gucci has laid on a lavish lunch; tonight there will be a full-scale brand-themed party as well.
After watching the fifteen-minute show with Simon, Sophia Fessey is instantly pulled back to work; Janette and Jennifer are dragged along to help.
Simon drifts into the lounge next door, a converted factory space artfully decked out for the occasion.
Plush sofas, an open bar and the obligatory display of Gucci products give the lounge an almost gallery-like air, while also making it easy to relax and network.
Once the interviews and photo calls are done, the guests drift in here to unwind while they wait for lunch at eleven-thirty.
Soon the models who walked the show begin to appear as well.
It's the busiest stretch of fashion month, so none of them flew to Milan for a single show; thanks to Gucci, however, they're free of other runways at least this morning.
At a round table in the corner of the lounge.
Madonna approaches Simon the moment she arrives. "Simon, 'The Bodyguard' soundtrack is smashing records, help me make an album and I'll act in a Daenerys Entertainment film for free".
Simon edges away; the woman is practically glued to him. "M, 'The Bodyguard' was a fluke. And offering to act for free isn't much of a bargaining chip".
"Oh, Simon, that hurts. Didn't I kill it in Pulp Fiction?" She inches closer again. "Or let's partner up, like Daenerys did with Arista on the soundtrack".
Simon shakes his head firmly. "Making records is brain-melting work, I don't have the time or inclination right now".
"You're heartless, Simon. And I called you friend".
Simon grins. "Friends keep business at arm's length".
"Wrong, friends help each other". Seeing he won't budge, she switches tack. "I just spotted the crew shooting the Gucci documentary. Got me thinking, why not film my next tour?"
The words instantly bring to Simon's mind 'Madonna: Truth or Dare'.
In his memory, that documentary, shot during the 1990 Blond Ambition tour, cost under $5 million and grossed nearly $30 million worldwide, easily out-earning Michael Jackson's 1985 Moonwalker.
Knowing how shrewd she is, Simon keeps his face neutral. "The Gucci film is brand marketing. What's your angle?"
"It could sell buckets", Madonna says, already running numbers. "A couple of million tops. I'll pack it with celebrity cameos, especially rare footage of Simon Westeros. Even if it doesn't hit theatres like Moonwalker, video and TV sales will cover the budget".
She warms to the idea and looks him dead in the eye. "Simon, in or out? If you pass, I'll shop it elsewhere".
Reading the test in her gaze, Simon shrugs. "Shoot it yourself; Daenerys will distribute. Could be a nice payday".
She can afford it, but she also knows the first rule of Hollywood: never invest your own money.
Seeing Simon unmoved, she tries once more. "Then I'll take it to another studio?"
In today's Hollywood, Simon Westeros's blessing is Midas-touch currency. If he bites, she can leverage the project whatever happens.
Simon merely shrugs. Before he can answer, a laughing gaggle of long-legged beauties, the show's models, drift toward them.
If Moonwalker barely made ripples, he doubts a Madonna doc will set the world alight, so he plays distracted, greeting the newcomers. "Cindy, all done for now?"
"Break time, more shots this afternoon", Cindy Crawford says, giving Madonna only a cursory nod and unapologetically claiming the seat on Simon's other side. "What are you two plotting?"
Simon answers off-handedly. Paulina Porizkova, Helena Christensen, Stephanie Seymour and the rest settle around the table. Realising she's lost his attention to these sirens, Madonna excuses herself.
Simon is perched on a tiny two-seater sofa. When Madonna stands, he starts to slide over for breathing room, but a slim figure beats him to it. A faint brush of denim and a different perfume; he turns to find a brown-haired, blue-eyed girl with pronounced cheekbones, white shirt, faded jeans.
He met her at rehearsal, and memory supplies the rest. He greets her in Italian. "Signorina Bruni, buongiorno".
Carla Bruni blinks, replies in the same language. "Buongiorno, Signor Westeros. Your accent's more Roman than mine".
Simon smiles. "Impossible, aren't you Italian?"
She accepts a coffee from a waiter. "I moved to France when I was five".
Simon waves the waiter off, his cup's already on the table, and asks, "Why leave? The Bruni name still carries weight here".
"Kidnapping fears; the family packed up", she says, then adds, "Mr Westeros, if you're staying, be careful".
Simon nods. "I will, and call me Simon".
Stephanie Seymour, seated on the nearby single sofa, grew irritated that the two kept speaking Italian and cut in, "Simon, Carla, what are you saying? None of us can understand".
"We're talking about the Mafia. Be careful in Milan these days".
Stephanie Seymour wasn't entirely in the dark about the matter and said dismissively, "We're not rookie models fresh off the bus".
Chatting like this, the time soon slid past eleven o'clock; staff began reminding everyone to head to a nearby hotel where lunch would be served.
As she stood up, Carla Bruni graciously handed Simon her business card, hoping they could talk again sometime.
Simon had no interest in the woman nicknamed the 'man-eating siren', she wasn't his type, but he pocketed the card anyway.
For the next few days, Sophia's Gucci team kept spinning like a top.
Newspaper pieces, magazine spreads, and television interviews about the Gucci show erupted across the global media. While some publications inevitably criticized the collection, and the broader seasonal line, as too commercial, the overall tide of opinion ran decidedly positive.
This decade's Big Four fashion weeks followed the order: London, Milan, Paris, New York.
Only when Paris Fashion Week opened did media chatter about Gucci begin to dilute under the flood of French luxury brands; back home in Italy, Prada, Armani, and the rest were completely steamrolled.
The day after the show, Simon and Janette began their own itinerary.
First they flew to Rome, met Giuseppe Tornatore, who was putting the final touches on 'Everybody's Fine', and dropped in on a few Italian film-circle gatherings.
During the seventies, the rise of the Hollywood 'Italian Mafia' had given Italian filmmakers several dazzling years in Tinseltown.
That lustre faded after a string of European directors flopped on big Hollywood budgets, yet, as the world's filmmaking Mecca, Hollywood still lured Italians instinctively. Simon, the young mogul who'd rocketed up in recent years, was naturally welcomed with open arms.
They hadn't found suitable real estate in Rome when buying property, so Simon and Janette stayed only three days before heading on to Florence.
The combined aura of newly minted Americas Richest man and Hollywood media titan made Simon's Italian swing a magnet for the local press; the domestic media proved no less aggressive than their North American peers.
From the instant he landed in Milan, Simon had been the quarry of Italian paparazzi. After shuttling among the country's three most important cities and, cornered by reporters, tossing off a few flattering remarks, he was soon painted in the Italian media as the American tycoon who adored the country.
Truth be told, if not for nagging security worries, Simon did rather like Italy, its deep cultural roots appealed to him.
But the morning after leaving Milan, local papers exposed the location of his Lake Como mansion, and that night someone tried to break in.
Every one of Simon's European homes was wired to an alarm; the intruders were spotted the moment they topped the wall. Milan police quickly nabbed the five-man crew, all with clear mob ties. A break-in at the private residence of so potent a public figure would bruise the city's image, so Milan officials hurried over to persuade Simon to keep quiet.
Since nothing was lost, Simon saw no reason to make waves.
Still, he handed Sophia a new PR brief: do whatever possible to keep his European addresses out of the press, and began mulling either an upgrade or a bespoke, tighter residential security system. A man with the territorial instincts of a lion, Simon cared little about possible financial loss from a break-in; the mere invasion of his private turf unsettled him deeply.
Florence.
Simon's estate south of the city, Thursday, 28 September.
Milan Fashion Week had ended on the 26th; Sophia led her team back to Florence.
After a full day's work, she drove over at six p.m. A quick word with the front-yard bodyguard, then she skirted the villa toward the rear garden.
In the sunset glow, Simon and Janette stood shoulder-to-shoulder at a long table strewn with papers and files, murmuring over something; Jennifer hovered nearby. Noticing Sophia, they broke off, exchanged greetings. Sophia glanced casually at the documents, caught the heading 'Columbia Savings & Loan Bond Asset Risk Assessment', and tactfully looked away.
Simon didn't mind: "You're not cleared for these, let's go inside".
Sophia smiled in agreement and followed him into the house.
They settled on the living-room sofa. Remembering something, Simon asked, "What's the story with Sabrina Ferilli on 'Everybody's Fine', you two best friends now?"
Digging files from her bag, Sophia said, "Her father's a city-hall official in Milan; he helped us secure that factory site in the east for the show".
Simon nodded and asked no more.
Doing business anywhere means dealing with government; growing big means getting even cozier with local powers. His female executive clearly understood the game, so he saw no need to press further.
Without further comment Sophia handed him the documents she'd brought. "Here are Gucci's latest operating figures and financials, plus several project proposals".
Simon took them, flipped one open. "Why dump this on me all of a sudden?"
"Judging by recent performance, revenue this year should top $350 million, up 35 percent from last year's $260 million. But we're still miles behind Dior or Chanel: Dior pulled in $830 million last year with $120 million net profit".
Simon grunted, waiting for her to continue.
Sophia paused. "Luckily, Gucci's rebound is accelerating. My target is $600 million next year and to overtake Dior by '91. To hit that we have to keep expanding. The proposals in your hand cover buying up workshops, a global refit-and-staff-training program for every store, and the Q4-plus-next-year marketing budget. Simon, if you approve, we'll plow every dollar of profit back into growth for the next two years and, if necessary, take on fresh debt".