Quiet, secluded.
This is not common in Los Angeles. Surrounded by deserts, the city is dominated by tall palm trees with trunks reaching the sky. Sparse branches and leaves do little to block the sunlight, making it rare to see a true forest.
But here, dense trees are arranged in an orderly fashion, stretching out as far as the eye can see. From the street, all you can see is a vast expanse of refreshing greenery, completely isolating all the noise and chaos from the outside world.
Straight ahead, turn right, straight again, then left.
Then—
The view opens up.
In front of him is a small fountain, where a statue of a carefree Bacchus is pouring a clear, green stream into a pool. It almost seems like he can hear birds chirping.
Edgar is momentarily stunned. Birds chirping?
No, it must be an illusion; that's the sea breeze lightly dancing in his ears.
At a glance, Edgar spots Anson's familiar Aston Martin. He parks his Ford in the adjacent space and walks toward the entrance.
Opening the door, Edgar feels like his eyes aren't enough to take everything in. He doesn't know whether to marvel at the endless ocean view at the end of the hall, the two-story high-ceilinged lobby, or the intricately carved spiral staircase to his left. It's a dizzying sight.
"Hey, Captain."
Hearing a voice, Edgar catches his breath as if he's grabbed a lifeline amidst his disorientation. He turns around to see Anson coming down from the second floor like a star making his entrance. Only then does he realize he's been holding his breath, so he quickly takes a deep breath.
Anson notices and smiles. "No need to be nervous. I'm just like you—I still haven't quite adjusted. It feels like I'm just a guest here."
"So, I want to tell you to make yourself at home, but I can't quite say it."
This little joke successfully helps Edgar regain his composure.
Taking a deep breath, Edgar also smiles. "This is just the beginning. You'll get used to it over time."
Anson reaches the first floor. "It's easy to move from frugal to lavish, but hard to go back. Let's hope we don't have to worry about that in the future."
Johnny Depp, despite his considerable income, declared bankruptcy in 2017 because he had monthly expenses of two million dollars and countless inexplicable daily expenditures. The 650 million dollars he earned over his decade-long career were almost completely squandered.
And Johnny wasn't the first, nor will he be the last.
Edgar, having seen his fair share in Hollywood, smiles. "Already worried about the future right after moving into a mansion?"
Anson shrugged lightly. "And that's before seeing the first month's bills."
"Haha." Edgar laughs, glancing around once more. "This decor—simple and elegant—is younger than I imagined. Is it left by the builders, or is it the previous owner's style?"
"The previous owner. But actually, my father isn't satisfied with the decor. He plans to handle it himself." Anson isn't knowledgeable about interior design or decor, so his opinion isn't important.
In fact, Charles' exact words were: "Don't rush, I'll handle it myself."
Johnny Depp's project might take some time, but Charles has already begun conceptualizing Anson's residence, planning to stay in Los Angeles for a while.
Even Nora mentioned she'd come over to help once she finished her current tasks.
Seeing both Charles and Nora planning to come to Los Angeles, Lucas is also itching to join in.
To this, Anson says, there are plenty of rooms, so no worries about not having enough space.
Edgar raises his chin slightly, his expression becoming quite honest.
Anson notices and chuckles. "Captain, my father isn't that scary, is he?"
Edgar wears a noncommittal expression: no comment.
This makes Anson laugh heartily.
Edgar quickly shifts the topic, "Have you finished reading the script?"
"Yes, I really like it." Anson doesn't beat around the bush and gets straight to the point.
Despite being busy lately—house hunting, moving, attending the premiere of The Fog—without much time to breathe, Anson still made time to carefully read the script for The Butterfly Effect—
As expected, he liked it.
Unlike the feeling of watching the movie in his previous life, reading the script now allows him to see it as a brand-new project, open to his imagination.
The same story can have a different approach.
It's interesting and different from any project he's done so far.
Edgar's eyes light up. "I knew it!"
Anson gestures for Edgar to sit. "What would you like to drink? Though I've just moved in, Lucas helped me fill up the fridge and the liquor cabinet before he left."
"Milk?" Edgar gives an unexpected answer. Anson looks back at him, and Edgar explains, "Hungover from last night. I'm not quite myself today."
Anson laughs. "I understand."
As Anson heads into the open kitchen, Edgar raises his voice to continue, "So, are you willing to take on this project?"
"Of course." Anson's voice comes from the kitchen. He returns with a carton of milk and a...whiskey glass. Seeing Edgar's surprised expression, he feels compelled to explain, "The kitchenware is still being restocked. Honestly, I don't see the difference."
Edgar laughs out loud. "At least it's not a champagne glass."
Anson spreads his hands. "There aren't any champagne glasses yet, so you wouldn't get to try it even if you wanted to."
Looking at the milk in a whiskey tumbler, Edgar unexpectedly relaxes. "Actually, I've contacted the two screenwriters."
"Two?" Anson asks.
Edgar nods. "The script was written by two screenwriters working together, and they also plan to co-direct. But because of that, they're facing some difficulties—they've never directed before."
Just like actors, writers, directors, and producers face challenges with their first attempt. The first step is to find investors.
If it's George Clooney, that's another story. When George transitioned to directing, he easily attracted investment and rallied a group of seasoned actors to back him up. Even if it was his first time directing, his name alone was a golden ticket.
But how many George Clooneys are there?
As expected.
Edgar continues, "They still haven't found an investor. I didn't mention who my client is, but I told them I'm confident I could find someone interested. They were thrilled."
Anson looks up to see Edgar beaming at him.
"Me?" Anson asks.
Edgar nods. "If your name is associated with this project, trust me—within a day, producers will be interested."
Edgar seems very confident.
Anson shakes his head. "I don't think so. While I've had some success, Hollywood still questions my box office draw."
"Spider-Man relied on the superhero and original comic book appeal, not on me."
"If it were Brad Pitt? Sure, no problem. But for me, it might still take some effort."
"The question is, do I need to be the producer?"
"Well, that's a different story then."