From Flower Vase to Film Emperor in Hollywood

Smack!

Suddenly, Harry hugged his head, lying on the passenger seat as if life had no meaning, overwhelmed with regret, remorse, frustration, and憋屈 (a feeling of being wronged and suffocated), his eyes involuntarily heating up.

But!

Taking a deep breath, Harry sat up straight, reinvigorated. Regret was useless; he needed to pull himself together. The day wasn't over yet; he still needed to track down Anson and Kristen. As long as he could get a photo, he could salvage the day's work.

…Wait, who is that?

Looking up, Harry saw Anson's door open to someone who embraced him with open arms. That figure seemed, looked, possibly, maybe, perhaps, a little familiar.

Heck!

Harry couldn't help but gasp. That person was clearly—

Jake!

Jake Gyllenhaal!

Perhaps Jake was a relatively new actor, but as a paparazzi, how could Harry not recognize him? After all, Gyllenhaal was a name with presence in Hollywood, and with Maggie Gyllenhaal's career also flourishing, Harry recognized him instantly.

But…

Did Anson and Jake know each other? Why was Jake appearing at the entrance of Anson's residence? Wasn't Anson supposed to have a date with Kristen later? Was the Kristen thing a lie? What kind of shady business was Anson up to with Jake!

No, no, no, no, if Anson knew Jake was here, he definitely wouldn't have invited a paparazzi to drive him back!

So, was this all a conspiracy, a performance prepared in advance for the paparazzi to see? But why? What was the purpose?

It's not necessary, really not necessary. Not everything is so complicated, and not everything is a conspiracy. Sometimes, accidents do happen.

"Jake?"

Not just Harry, Anson also looked surprised to see Jake Gyllenhaal in front of him. Joy flew onto his face, but before he could even steady himself, Jake had already given Anson a big, enthusiastic hug.

Anson looked disgusted: Great, after Chris, there's another hug-obsessed maniac.

"I shouldn't be mistaken, you said you'd arrive the day after tomorrow?"

Not long ago, Jake contacted Anson, saying that he would be going to New York to audition for a role, unsure of the length of his stay, and asked if there was a chance to meet during Anson's filming breaks.

Anson enthusiastically extended an invitation, inviting Jake to stay at his apartment during his New York audition, so they could chat and hang out after Anson finished his daily filming work.

Jake happily agreed.

However, things took a slight turn, and Jake arrived two days earlier than expected.

Jake released the hug, revealing a slightly restrained and shy smile, "Yes, two days early. If there are other guests in your apartment, I can find accommodation myself first…"

Subtly, Jake also teased Anson a little. Shy as he was, the humor in his words wasn't diminished.

Anson raised an eyebrow slightly, saying meaningfully, "Do you think I'm such a careless person?"

The two exchanged a look and burst out laughing.

Anson patted Jake on the back, "Let's go upstairs. There's no need to keep standing at the entrance of the apartment building in the wind. The spring wind in New York in March is still biting."

Jake looked behind him, "What about your assistant? Is that okay?"

Assistant?

Anson followed Jake's gaze and saw Harry with a tangled expression, bursting out laughing, "That's a paparazzi, don't worry."

Jake, "Uh."

Anson didn't say anything more, leading Jake into the apartment building, leaving Harry sitting in the driver's seat, frantically pulling the camera out of the back seat.

No matter what the situation, and no matter if he'd use them later, taking photos first was the right thing to do.

However, it was already too late. By the time Harry frantically pulled out the camera and pressed the shutter, he only captured two blurry afterimages.

Damn it!

Harry cursed inwardly. This afternoon, he didn't know how many times he'd stumbled, but he still took deep breaths to regain his composure and reason. In any case, he could still track Anson's next move—

Jake Gyllenhaal or Kirsten Dunst, either way, he could catch some clues. Even if there wasn't a bombshell tonight, he could still dig something up by following the trail.

Taking a deep breath, Harry finally regained the attitude and professionalism of a paparazzi.

He quickly got out of the car, first checking out the building in front of him, confirming that there were no other exits. But he soon discovered that the building had three exits, and he couldn't possibly monitor them all by himself.

Harry was a little flustered.

Hurriedly running back to the main entrance, he hid the camera, tidied himself up briefly, and broke through the main entrance. He could immediately see the uniformed doorman, standing guard at the front desk with a serious expression, like a guardian deity.

But Harry had already calmed down, saying that he was here to visit his friend Anson Wood, and their mutual friend had just arrived, so he was just a step behind.

Sure enough, his vivid, half-true words deceived the doorman, who answered without suspicion, "Mr. Wood has already gone out again."

Harry froze in place as if struck by lightning, completely stunned.

With great difficulty, he regained his composure and quickly asked, "Did they call a taxi? Which company?"

Paparazzi have their own sources of information.

In big cities like Los Angeles and New York, although you can hail a taxi on the street, it's quite difficult. So, the more convenient way is to call a taxi company directly and have them dispatch a taxi.

Moreover, it's now 2000, and in high-end private apartments like this, the doorman is equivalent to a butler, so it's even more common for the doorman to call a taxi on their behalf.

As long as Harry knows the taxi company, he can track down the destination based on the location and time. He can still catch up, Anson shouldn't think he can get rid of him so easily…

"What?"

Harry simply couldn't believe his ears, looking at the doorman with a bewildered expression.

This expression made the doorman suspicious, "You can call your friend directly to confirm, there's no need for me to be an intermediary, right?"

Harry was like a broken robot, barely managing to control his expression, and responded with a few words, "Yes, I'll call him now."

He even forgot to refute the doorman, fabricating an excuse that "Anson doesn't like to carry a mobile phone", anyway, not carrying a mobile phone is still mainstream now.

But Harry really didn't have the mind to deal with these things now, dejectedly turning and leaving the apartment, standing in front of the street, disheveled in the wind:

Anson didn't call a taxi.

Either Anson hailed a taxi on the street, but that's unlikely, because Harry didn't notice any signs of taxis stopping at different exits of the apartment.

Or Anson just left on foot?

Just like that…left?

So, Harry wanting to find Anson in New York was like finding a needle in a haystack.