Eric: …
Mackye: …
The two exchanged glances, their smiles frozen in place, bodies unable to move, as if time had come to a standstill. They even forgot to blink.
In movies or novels, seeing such a scenario often made them roll their eyes. Not again! Another cliché coincidence—it's so old-fashioned. Can't we have something different?
But people often forget that art imitates life. Precisely because in real life, talking behind someone's back often gets you caught, these coincidences repeatedly appear in artistic creations.
Moreover, without such coincidences, how would art create conflict?
However, when you encounter such situations in real life, the awkwardness can make you cringe from head to toe.
Beside them, the voice continued.
"Or, I could just pretend I didn't hear anything, that nothing happened."
After saying this, the person turned to leave.
He… just… left like that…
Mackye's entire left shoulder was frozen and numb, his brain not processing, staring blankly at Eric. "Did he… leave?"
Eric snapped out of his daze, looking panicked. "What do we do now? Oh God, Mackye, we messed up this meeting too."
Mackye took a deep breath, feeling embarrassed and angry. "What a prima donna! I didn't say anything that bad, and he just turned and left. Who's he showing attitude to? What's he trying to prove? That he's better than us, that we need to beg him? He's just… Eric, are you having a muscle spasm?"
Halfway through his rant, Mackye noticed Eric was winking desperately. His words cut off, and after a brief delay, he realized what was happening. His throat itched.
"He's standing right behind me, isn't he?"
Eric nodded slightly, looking like he'd seen a T-Rex.
Mackye closed his eyes in despair.
He clenched his teeth and braced himself.
Mackye turned around, "Anson, sorry…"
Again, he couldn't finish the sentence—
Today's meeting was a disaster, with one unexpected event after another. Everything had become chaotic, all communication fragmented, words were torn into countless pieces, and any attempt to speak led to more confusion.
This time, it was because of the person standing before him:
Was this really Anson?
He wore a simple light blue striped linen shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, paired with dark gray cargo pants and white canvas shoes—about as simple as it gets. But dried paint on his shirt and pants gave him a somewhat rugged and carefree look.
His light brown hair, just long enough to cover his ears, grew wildly and freely, exuding a raw and casual charm, giving off an unpolished sex appeal.
Clearly, this was a far cry from the Anson people remembered.
If someone said he was an eccentric artist, it wouldn't be questioned at all.
Was this really the Anson Wood who had shot to the top of Hollywood's pyramid with "Spider-Man"? They had never heard Anson was into painting.
But painting wasn't the main point. The real focus was his aura: reserved and low-key, free-spirited yet unruly, lacking the arrogance and aggressiveness of someone who achieved success early, and missing the superiority and condescension often seen in those at the top. He had a simple, pure artist's vibe that was refreshing and eye-catching.
Honestly, it was hard to believe this was Anson Wood.
Not just Mackye, even Eric had his mouth slightly open, entirely losing his ability to react.
Before they could say anything, Anson took the lead.
Anson smiled. "No, there's no need. You're right; I'm just an ordinary person like you, and Area 51 probably wouldn't be interested in me."
"Also, I'm sorry to disappoint, but my wrists don't shoot spider webs."
Pfft.
Eric couldn't help but burst into laughter.
Anson looked over, extending his right hand. "Nice to meet you. I'm Wood, Anson Wood. So, this must be Eric?"
Eric Bress had short hair and a round face with noticeably chubby cheeks, round eyes, a round nose, and round cheekbones, but his pockmarked skin seemed poorly cared for.
He gave off a "butcher" vibe. If he stood in a supermarket's meat section cutting meat and chopping bones, there'd be no sense of incongruity. But his eyes were exceptionally clear, leaving a gentle impression upon first meeting.
Judging by his appearance alone, it was hard to believe he wrote scripts like "Final Destination" and "The Butterfly Effect," which delve into philosophical reflections on fate and life.
Again, it proved you can't judge a book by its cover.
Eric absentmindedly shook Anson's hand, unsure of what to say, staring blankly at Anson like a fanboy.
Mackye understood, 100% understood.
Even though they'd been in Hollywood for nearly a decade, meeting many actors over time, they had never met a true star and didn't know what it meant to have that star quality.
Anson, standing before them, exuded an aura that was both impactful and imposing, leaving them somewhat stunned—
It turned out people really are different.
Then, Anson turned to Mackye.
Unlike Eric, Mackye looked like a non-mainstream nerd. He had long, light brown hair, straight and shoulder-length, seemingly ready to shoot a shampoo commercial. There was a noticeable pimple on his forehead, but his carefully groomed beard showed attention to detail.
Clearly, he cared about his appearance. Every detail was thoughtfully managed, from his deep brown suit paired with a black shirt, without a tie but accessorized with a silver necklace. He was completely different from Eric, who wore a T-shirt and jeans.
Yet, they were best friends who spent seven years completing a script without killing each other, which might be considered a miracle.
"So, this must be Jonathan. Nice to meet you," Anson said, turning his gaze.
Mackye swallowed, finally finding his voice. "Mackye."
Anson: "Hmm?"
Mackye: "I don't like the name Jonathan, so my friends call me Mackye, or J-Mack."
Anson slightly lifted his chin. "Mackye, is there a story behind the name?"
Mackye paused, as it was the first time anyone had been curious about his name. "It's a Scottish name, originally meaning 'Son of Fire.'"
Anson: "Looks like I've learned something new today; that's quite a discovery."
Anson gestured to the seats, and both Eric and Mackye nodded. He then pulled out a chair, sat down, and called the waiter to order a soda. Noticing the odd looks from across the table, he explained, "I'm shaping a new actor image, so I'll be ordering some healthy foods like salads next. See, our audition has already started."
With ease and humor.
The atmosphere lightened up immediately.
Smiles crept onto their faces, and without missing a beat, Anson kept the lead, steering the conversation to the main topic.
"So, let's discuss the character now. Why do you think I'm suitable for the role of Evan?"
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