From Flower Vase to Film Emperor in Hollywood

Hollywood in 2002 was still the era of superstars.

Logically speaking, the success and glory of the summer season had nothing to do with Anson; naturally, the bottlenecks and constraints of the holiday season also had nothing to do with Anson.

Anson Wood's foundation was still shallow; he was just a pretty face, an idol, a pawn.

That's why Anson was mocked when he starred in "Elephant," with professionals seeing through his ambition and advising him not to be too hasty; when Anson took on the role of producer for "The Butterfly Effect," he was criticized again, with professionals seeing through his plan and advising him not to take too big a step.

Everything was speculation and prejudice.

However.

Just as the times create heroes, when the time, place, person, and event align one by one, an opportunity is born.

Hollywood still believed in superstars and still expected them; the solution to any difficulty or bottleneck was a superstar, believing that a superstar could turn the tide. But the key was, who was this superstar, could Anson do it? Had Anson reached that level yet?

Anson and "Catch Me If You Can," this combination became a test for the holiday season—Anson testing the potential of the holiday season, and the holiday season testing Anson's potential—

It seemed like a two-way street, but in reality, neither side was willing.

But regardless, things happened this way.

Just a month ago, the media was still criticizing Anson for "ambition exceeding ability," "being good at calculation and strategy," and "having no talent but a big appetite."

In the blink of an eye, the question of "the first superstar of the new century is about to be born" was already placed on Anson's head, and the whole of Hollywood was subtly stirred up.

As the person involved, Anson said: From beginning to end, it has nothing to do with me.

Thus.

Anson. Anson. Anson.

When Anson returned from the remote and peaceful Vancouver to the spotlight of Los Angeles, this was the scene that unfolded before him:

A dazzling world, overwhelming, with his name everywhere, the whole world spinning and dizzying, but he didn't know what was happening.

Click, click, click, click.

Flashes of light poured down like a waterfall, deafening his eardrums, and the bustling crowd blocked the airport arrival hall completely.

Obviously, Anson hadn't anticipated this scene—

Without comparison, there is no harm; in contrast, Vancouver was indeed like the end of the world.

The first thought that came to mind was also the only thought: There really are a lot of people.

Didn't they have other work to do? Were Ben Affleck and Jennifer Lopez no longer attracting attention? Had Mel Gibson not been drinking and fighting? Was there no latest news about Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston's marriage? Had Leonardo DiCaprio stopped tormenting himself?

And so on.

Looking at the surging crowd through his sunglasses, Anson paused slightly. Now he finally understood why Edgar insisted on picking him up.

But, where was the captain?

Looking around, Anson tried to find Edgar's figure in the flashes of light.

Then.

A tall, sturdy, fair-skinned figure emerged from the dense crowd, immediately grabbing attention—

A black suit, slightly ill-fitting, with the trousers a little short, revealing awkward white socks. If it were Michael Jackson, this combination would be fashion and trend; but for ordinary people, this combination seemed ridiculous.

Who is it?

Just then, feet in black leather shoes slipped on the airport's shiny tiled floor like a spider wearing ice skates.

Swoosh.

Then, the baby face began to flail wildly, and the coolness of the "Men in Black" agent's entrance collapsed directly. All eyes in the airport gathered in astonishment, watching him crash towards Anson like an out-of-control train.

"Oh. Oh, oh, oh."

The baby face let out a wail.

Anson didn't dodge, but instead stepped forward slightly, opening his arms, ready to welcome this poor guy.

But he didn't expect the baby face to wave his hands repeatedly.

"No, no."

Bending his knees, lowering his center of gravity, he finally flew past Anson in a bowling ball pose.

The whole place was silent.

The next second, someone in the crowd shouted, "Safe!" and the whole place burst into laughter.

Anson couldn't control his smile either, his lips and eyebrows full of amusement, but he still quickly stepped forward and offered a helping hand to the baby face.

"God, are you okay?"

Two red blushes flew onto that fair face, embarrassed and annoyed, shyly and restrainedly touching his head. Anson tried to stop him, but was a step too late—

The baby face used hairspray to grab his short hair and comb it into a stylish hairstyle, but now, this action immediately transformed the hairstyle into an airplane.

It was a little funny.

The baby face noticed Anson's hesitation, widened his eyes, and looked over innocently, seemingly completely unaware of his hairstyle problem.

Anson swallowed his words, changed the subject, "Is everything okay? Does it hurt? Are you injured?"

The baby face looked down at himself, shaking his head repeatedly, so hard and so enthusiastically that one worried his head might fall off the next second. His large and clumsy body shook violently like a Paddington Bear, but his childish baby face made him look particularly young, and one couldn't tell his age.

"…No."

Without warning, the baby face finally found his voice, bursting out a word that shocked the heavens, "I'm fine. I'm good. Don't worry. Mr. Wood."

Anson raised his eyebrow slightly, "Mr. Wood?"

This title?

So, the baby face wasn't a paparazzi?

The baby face didn't hear the hidden meaning in Anson's words, but instead looked over with a confused expression, "Is Mr. Wood trying to hide his identity? But Mr. Wood's face is the best business card. How could anyone not recognize him? If Mr. Wood wants to hide his tracks, like James Bond, it won't work."

This earnest self-extension made Anson not know whether to laugh or cry.

Just as Anson was thinking about whether he should explain, the phone in the baby face's pocket vibrated, and he fumbled to take it out.

"Mr. Cook."

Anson raised his chin slightly, and then a familiar voice came from the phone, "Give the phone to Anson."

The baby face respectfully handed the phone over with both hands.

Anson took it.

"Anson, I see you. I'm outside, at the main entrance, you guys hurry over. That kid was specially brought in to help."

The other end of the phone was Edgar, without wasting words, straightforward, and hung up directly after finishing the instructions.

Anson handed the phone back, "Your boss wants us to go out now, otherwise, he might get a ticket from the traffic police."

Inadvertently, Anson teased Edgar again.

But the baby face didn't understand at all, nodding seriously, "That wouldn't be good. We need to speed up."

Anson: …

Anson had a premonition that future cooperation might be a little difficult.