From Flower Vase to Film Emperor in Hollywood

Eric: … …

Mackie: … …

They looked at each other, smiles frozen on their lips, bodies unable to move, as if time had stopped. Even their eyes forgot to blink.

In the past, when seeing such scenarios in movies or novels, they couldn't help but roll their eyes. 'Oh, not this coincidence again! It's so cliché, can't we have something different?'

But they often forgot that art originates from life. It is precisely because people are often caught talking behind others' backs in real life that such coincidences repeatedly appear in artistic creations.

Moreover, every story needs a coincidence. If there were no such coincidences, how would artistic creations create conflict?

However, when actually encountering such a situation in real life, the embarrassment is enough to make one curl their toes and make their scalp tingle.

From the side, the voice continued.

"Or, I can pretend I didn't hear anything, that nothing happened."

After speaking, he turned to leave.

He actually… just… left… like that…

Mackie's entire left shoulder was completely stiff and numb. His brain couldn't keep up with the reaction. He stared blankly at Eric, "He… left?"

Eric finally reacted, his face full of anxiety, "What do we do now? God, Mackie, we screwed up this meeting too."

Mackie took a deep breath, frustrated and angry, "What's with his attitude? I didn't even say anything, and he just turned around and left, showing his displeasure to who? So, what does he want to prove? Prove that he's better than us, that we have to kneel down and beg him? He's just… Eric, is your eye twitching?"

Halfway through his words, Mackie saw Eric desperately winking at him. His words were interrupted, and after a slight delay, he realized what was happening. His throat felt itchy.

"He's standing right behind me, isn't he?"

Eric nodded slightly with an expression like he had just seen a Tyrannosaurus Rex appear.

Mackie closed his eyes in despair.

He gritted his teeth and steeled himself.

Mackie still turned around to look, "Anson, I'm sorry…"

The words still couldn't be finished—

Today's meeting was indeed a disaster. One accident followed another, completely unstoppable. All conversations and thoughts became fragmented, and words were torn into countless pieces. He would start to speak and then stop, seemingly unable to control his language in the chaos.

This time, it was because of the person in front of him:

Is this really Anson?

A simple and refreshing light blue vertical striped linen shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows; paired with dark gray cargo pants and white canvas shoes. It was simple to the extreme, but you could see dried paint on the shirt and pants, slightly rough and casual.

A head of golden-brown hair just covering the ears, growing wildly and unrestrainedly, wild and dashing, the whole person exuding a kind of unpolished sexiness.

Obviously, this was far from the Anson people had in mind.

If you said he was a distinctive painter, there would definitely be no problem.

This person, is he really Anson Wood, who leaped into the top tier of Hollywood with "Spider-Man"? They had never heard that Anson also painted?

Moreover, painting wasn't the point. The real point was that temperament, restrained and low-key, unrestrained and free, without the arrogance and sharpness of someone who achieved success at a young age, nor the condescending arrogance and dominance. A simple and pure artistic aura came over him, making people's eyes light up.

Truthfully, it was hard to believe that this was Anson Wood.

Not just Mackie, Eric was also slightly open-mouthed, completely losing his ability to react.

Before they even had time to speak, the initiative had already fallen into Anson's hands.

Pfft.

Eric couldn't help but laugh.

Anson looked over, proactively extending his right hand, "Very happy to meet you. I'm Wood, Anson Wood. So, this must be Eric?"

Eric Brace, with short hair and a round face where you can clearly see chubby cheeks, round eyes, a round nose, and round cheekbones, but his pitted skin looks like it lacks maintenance.

The whole person exudes a "butcher" vibe. If he stood in the supermarket's raw meat section in charge of cutting meat and chopping bones, it would seem perfectly normal; however, his eyes are particularly clear, leaving a gentle impression at first glance.

Judging solely from appearance, it's hard to imagine that he is the screenwriter who wrote "Final Destination" and "The Butterfly Effect," which are full of philosophical thoughts on fate and life.

This also proves once again that you can't judge a book by its cover.

Eric dazedly shook Anson's right hand, not knowing what to say, and nodded blankly, his eyes completely unable to leave Anson, like a pervert.

Mackie understood, one hundred percent understood.

Although they had been in Hollywood for nearly ten years and had seen many actors, they had never seen a real superstar, and they had no idea what the so-called superstar aura was all about.

The aura exuded by Anson in front of them, from head to toe, was impactful and oppressive, to the point that both of them were a little dazed—

So, people really are different.

Then, Anson turned to look at Mackie.

Unlike Eric, Mackie looked like an unconventional otaku, with long golden-brown hair that seemed ready for a shampoo commercial; he had a noticeable pimple on his forehead, but his beard was carefully groomed and trimmed.

Obviously, he paid attention to his appearance. All these details were carefully managed. Even his dark brown suit paired with a black shirt, without a tie but with a silver necklace, showed that it was carefully coordinated, completely different from Eric's T-shirt and jeans.

However, they were close friends who spent seven years together completing a script without killing each other, which could be considered a miracle.

"So, this is Jonathan. Very happy to meet you," Anson turned to look over.

Mackie swallowed a mouthful of saliva, finally finding his voice, "Mackie."

Anson, "Hmm?"

Mackie, "I don't like the name Jonathan, so my friends call me Mackie, or J-Mac."

Anson gently raised his chin, "Mackie, does this name have any origin?"

Mackie was stunned because this was the first time someone was curious about his name, "It's a name from Scotland, originally meaning 'son of fire'."

Anson, "It seems I've learned some knowledge again. Not bad."

Anson gestured to the seats. Eric and Mackie nodded together before he pulled out a seat, sat down, summoned the waiter, and asked for a soda. Noticing the strange gazes from across the table, he explained, "I'm shaping an actor's image. Next, I should deliberately choose some healthy foods like salads. See, our audition has already started."

Effortless and natural.

The atmosphere immediately lightened up.

A smile quietly crept onto the corner of his lips, and then Anson didn't pause, continuing to take the initiative, cutting to the chase.

"So, let's discuss the matter of the actor. Why do you think I'm suitable for the role of Evan?"