From Flower Vase to Film Emperor in Hollywood

Hoo.

Brad exhaled softly, the stale air in his chest dispersing slightly in the Malibu sea breeze. Although he was still tired, the tension in his shoulders eased a little, leaving him with a sense of emptiness and exhilaration.

He looked around. The empty streets of Malibu were devoid of traffic. Not to mention taxis, there weren't even many cars passing by.

The main point is that Malibu has always advertised how beautiful and wonderful its beaches are. Could he sue the Malibu City Hall for false advertising?

Or is it that Malibu's real good beaches aren't here?

After all, Malibu has so many beaches. Perhaps the beaches suitable for sunbathing and vacationing aren't here?

Ouch, ouch, ouch.

Brad hopped around. What seemed like a romantic and dashing act turned out to be utterly foolish. He was seriously considering whether he should return to the main road and call a taxi to leave.

Buzz, buzz, buzz.

A vibration.

After careful distinction, Brad realized it was his phone in his pants pocket.

His first subconscious reaction was to take the phone out of his pocket, ready to answer, but he immediately realized his almost-addicted reaction. He raised his right hand, wanting to throw the phone into the blue sea in front of him.

However, in the end, he couldn't bear to.

Not because of the phone call's content, but because of the phone itself—

Does anyone know how expensive it is to buy a phone now?

Casually throwing away a phone, not only pollutes the ocean, but also requires buying a new one!

Looking at the phone, Brad ultimately didn't act impulsively. After hesitating for a moment, he answered the call.

"Hey, Brad, this is Lisa."

"I know. Have you forgotten? I filled your voicemail box to bursting."

On the other end of the phone was that poor casting director's assistant.

Brad's expression was slightly awkward, but at least he had learned to make fun of himself, facing his mistakes with equanimity.

The other end of the phone chuckled lightly, but didn't dwell on it, even showing a spirit of finding joy in hardship, jokingly retorting.

"It's okay, the voicemail box has been cleared. Welcome to continue leaving messages."

Brad smiled wryly.

The other party didn't continue joking, naturally bringing the topic back.

"About the movie, I have some great news."

"Frank found Gary Ross. They've already met once, and Gary showed great interest and is actively promoting it."

Gary Ross, a screenwriter by trade, had already earned an Oscar nomination for Best Original Screenplay for "Big" in 1989—this movie can largely be said to be Tom Hanks's breakthrough work; later, "Dave" earned him a second Oscar nomination for Best Original Screenplay.

In 1998, Gary wrote and directed "Pleasantville" for the first time. Although it was his directorial debut, he used his deep connections to create a golden cast and persuaded Warner Bros. to invest and distribute it, winning three Oscar nominations the following year for Best Art Direction, Best Costume Design, and Best Original Score.

Without a doubt, this is a screenwriter and director who is highly favored within the Academy.

Although his directing experience is slightly lacking, the collaboration between Gary Ross and Frank Marshall has long since secured the film's advantage during awards season.

One step, then another. The film's Oscar prospects are brightening.

"At the same time, Jeff Bridges, Chris Cooper, and Forest Whitaker have all shown great interest."

These names, although not box-office giants like Tom Cruise or Will Smith, are all absolute powerhouses with reputations in the industry. Among them, Jeff Bridges, who has been nominated for an Oscar for acting four times but has never been able to win, is even known as the Academy's overlooked gem.

The addition of any one of these actors would be a major boost for the film.

Brad was stunned, "What?"

In fact, Brad was controlling himself, constantly telling himself not to get excited, not to exaggerate, not to care too much, and not to lose his composure and go crazy again.

However, the words coming from the other end of the phone still made his heart race.

Brad took a deep breath, "Sorry, Lisa, is this real? I'm worried I'll go crazy again and drag you into a vortex of madness."

"Heh heh." Laughter came from the receiver, "I don't have any power, I can't make decisions or give advice. I'm just relaying the current situation. Everything is up to them. But… yes, these are all true, and it's happening. Frank is actively pushing it forward."

"In short, they want to meet up for a drink tonight, to really sit down and talk about this project."

"Frank is also on his way from New York to Los Angeles. If the timing works out, he'll join the dinner too."

One sentence after another.

The amount of information was too much.

Brad made himself take a deep breath, "Whoa, whoa, slow down."

But the other end of the phone didn't pause, "Yes, all of this is happening, and it's going to move quickly. Frank wants to speed things up. Brad, I'm just an assistant, I have no right to judge anything, but your idea is right. This could be an Oscar contender."

Then, the phone hung up.

Brad stood there, holding the phone, his brain frozen, staring blankly at the vast ocean in front of him.

Splash, splash.

The waves continued to crash against the beach.

Such positive and encouraging news, it seemed that the thing he had always dreamed of had finally happened, everything was so perfect that it didn't feel real.

However, he had no one to share it with.

Suddenly, Brad was stunned, staring blankly ahead—

Things seemed to be different from what he had imagined. So, is this what he was hoping for?

… …

"Mr. Wood."

Over there, Noah stood at the entrance of the back garden, calling out loudly.

"Mr. Slimane is here."

Then, Noah looked at Hedi Slimane, "Soda water, two ice cubes, right?"

Hedi nodded lightly, standing at the entrance of the back garden, looking back at the scene in the hall, unable to help but admire, "Here, the whole taste is completely different."

Today, Anson had been waiting for Hedi, but he hadn't expected Brad's appearance to disrupt his plans, so that even when the real guest arrived, Anson hadn't fully recovered.

Turning around, looking at Hedi, Anson took a deep breath and showed a smile, "Hedi, so, are you implying that my usual taste is not good?"

Hedi shook his head, "No, I'm just marveling, now I finally know where your taste comes from. But the point is that a fashion sense and a decorating taste don't necessarily happen in one person, otherwise God would be too unfair, wouldn't He?"

Anson pursed his lips, "So, in the final analysis, you still think I don't have that kind of taste."