From Flower Vase to Film Emperor in Hollywood

The audition went smoothly.

Edgar believed in Anson, in Anson's actor appeal and performance temperament, and also believed that Anson was the perfect candidate to play Spider-Man.

And now, it was the agent's turn to step up and complete the job.

His brain was working at high speed.

Then, Edgar seized upon an idea.

"Oh, Laura is currently dating Alvin Sargent. He's a screenwriter who wrote the screenplay for Robert Redford's 'Ordinary People' in 1980, winning four Oscars for Best Picture, Best Director, and Best Adapted Screenplay, among others."

"However, he hasn't written a script worth mentioning in fifteen years."

A smile crept onto the corner of Edgar's mouth—

Normally, Edgar's temperament was particularly gentle and low-key. A glance wouldn't even register him; he was unremarkable, often requiring a second or third look to discover his charm. However, when he revealed a smile, it was like warm jade, radiating a gentle, moist halo.

"These screenwriters and writers always like to gather at the White Horse Tavern in Greenwich Village."

"It used to be a gathering place for writers like Dylan Thomas and Jack Kerouac. If I remember correctly, Laura and Alvin met at a literary gathering at the White Horse Tavern, which sparked their connection."

Although Anson wasn't curious, Edgar still explained a bit.

"Laura and Alvin had previously collaborated on film projects, more than one in fact. One was a producer, the other a screenwriter, but there was nothing special between them at the time, and they were both in their respective marriages. It wasn't until they were both single again that their encounter at the White Horse Tavern unexpectedly made them see each other."

"I need a trustworthy person…"

As he spoke, Edgar ignored Anson and began to mutter to himself.

"Hey, Quinn, it's me. Remember the favor you owe me? I need it repaid now."

"Yes, today, tomorrow, and the day after, just these three days."

"Every afternoon during 'Happy Hour,' go to the White Horse Tavern and look for an elderly man with graying hair, skin that looks like he's dedicated to tanning, a wide face, and a big nose. He'll be around seventy to seventy-five years old…"

"Yes, I know that's a broad range, but pay attention. He might be carrying a small notebook or a computer, pretending to be looking for inspiration while drinking beer."

"He's not a poet, but a screenwriter."

Ha.

Edgar chuckled softly, "Yes, a screenwriter, pretending to be a literary figure but actually having nothing to do with poetry or literature."

"Find him, and then pretend to chat with your friend, a little louder, and say that your friend recently worked on Garry Marshall's set and heard that Garry praised a new actor named Anson."

"Yes, Anson. No last name. Emphasize 'newcomer.' As for how to praise him, use your own imagination, exaggerate as much as possible."

"Three days. As soon as possible."

"That's all. As long as you can do it, your favor is canceled."

"Waiting for your good news."

He hung up the phone.

The operation was swift and decisive, taking less than sixty seconds.

Anson looked at Edgar with slight surprise, "How can you guarantee that Alvin will tell Laura?"

Going around in a circle, instead of directly telling Laura, but using a third-party hearsay method to awaken Laura, using the information gap to create an accidental effect, to avoid these old foxes discovering their behind-the-scenes manipulation—

Like "Inception," instead of directly conveying information, but planting a seed of an idea, waiting for this seed to take root and sprout in the subconscious.

Finally, when the idea takes shape, Laura will believe that this is her own decision, and will not suspect others. Everything is very natural.

However, if any link in the middle goes wrong, the result may be different.

Edgar was not worried, "Anson, have you written a script?"

Anson: … …

Edgar, "Writing a script is like sitting in front of a computer, unable to squeeze out a single word for six months. Every day you go to the White Horse Tavern pretending to look for inspiration, but actually you have no intention at all, all your attention is on eavesdropping, and then you don't want to say that you have gained nothing when you go home."

"So, when communicating with your partner, you will throw those gossips out to convince yourself that you are not doing nothing all day."

"Do you know how those Hollywood rumors spread?"

"Makeup artists, hairstylists, actors, screenwriters."

"Believe me, Laura will know. Whether she is satisfied with you or not, she will definitely call Garry and ask for Garry's opinion."

Professionalism is indeed different.

However, this is still not all.

If they only rely on such an action, it is equivalent to still putting the initiative in Laura's hands. They still need to strive for the initiative as much as possible.

Edgar thought for a while, "What's Sam's impression of you?"

"Judging from the on-site reaction, he broke the routine at least three times, and curiosity took the upper hand. It seems to be a positive signal," Anson gave an objective answer.

Edgar looked at Anson, "I think we still need to sit down and talk to the director. Not only for the audition, but also to let him feel your personality charm, as an actor and as an ordinary person."

"Now is different from the morning. The audition is over, so we don't need to create a chance encounter, but openly attack. Do you believe me?"

Switching from conspiracy to open strategy, the same strategy has different effects at different times and under different circumstances.

Anson nodded in agreement, "Lunch or dinner?"

Crisp and efficient.

Edgar's expression also became positive, "Dinner. In that case, we will send an invitation openly and honestly. I'll contact Ian Bryce's assistant."

The phone he was holding tightly in his hand hadn't cooled down yet, and Edgar was already dialing again to arrange things.

… …

Night, slowly descending.

Obviously, New York is different from Los Angeles. In this season, Los Angeles can still see the evening glow all over the sky, but the sun in New York has sunk below the horizon. The whole city is wrapped in the bright halo of thousands of lights, like Atlantis. Nightlife has already begun.

Clang.

Pushing open the glass door, the sound of wind chimes shaped like red lanterns rang, and the hustle and bustle of people wrapped in a heat wave rushed towards them. The busy waiters coming and going didn't stop, looking completely busy. There was no lobby manager at the door to help with seating, which was completely different from New York's restaurant culture.

Everything seemed casual and free.

Of course, not all Chinese restaurants are like this. Most Chinese restaurants in New York adapt to local customs and make some adjustments. Occasionally, a small number of restaurants retain their customs and characteristics, and unexpectedly gain a place in the fierce competition.

The one in front of them was like that.

It's not even seven o'clock yet. It's at least an hour away from New York's customary dinner time, but the seats in the store are almost full.

Sam Raimi was quietly curled up at a table for four in the corner, looking up at the unusually busy waiters coming and going, but dared not speak. The table in front of him was empty, with only a pot of tea. He looked particularly pitiful, but the waiters still didn't notice him.

Then, two figures appeared in front of him, "Good evening, is this seat taken?"

Fourth chapter.