Unbeknownst to them, dusk had already fallen, and the streetlights along both sides of the road flickered on.
Simon looked at the two women, one dumbfounded and the other hesitant, and could only casually remind them that it was indeed time to go back, as Malibu, in the western suburbs of Los Angeles, was still quite far from Burbank. He also suggested that Kathryn drive, as Janette Johnston driving in high heels was simply too dangerous.
Seeing that Simon was completely normal and showed no signs of an episode, Kathryn finally relaxed, but inexplicably, she no longer wanted to delve into Simon's past.
Glancing at her friend beside her, who, though still rolling her eyes, had finally calmed down, Kathryn found it a little amusing.
"You're always messing around, and you finally got put in your place, didn't you?"
"The fake crazy hooligan met a real lunatic from a mental hospital, tsk tsk."
After putting her friend in the passenger seat, Kathryn also got into the car. After a moment of hesitation, the woman still reminded Simon, who was standing outside the car window, to contact her if he had any difficulties, and then she started the car.
Turning the car around at a nearby intersection, Kathryn finally nodded to the tall boy by the roadside, slowly pressed the accelerator, and the burgundy Ford sedan gradually merged into the city's traffic under the twilight.
Watching the two women's car drive away, Simon adjusted the backpack on his shoulder, turned, and left.
After buying a map of downtown Los Angeles from a nearby store, Simon sat down at an outdoor table at a street-side fast-food restaurant, ordered the cheapest dinner, and began to look at the map.
Because he had inherited the memories of twelve other people, Simon found that not only professional skills, but also everything about Hollywood, or rather, the entire Los Angeles, from human geography to entertainment gossip, and various information spanning decades, was all clear in his mind.
"It seems I also have the potential to be a paparazzi."
While amusing himself with such thoughts, Simon easily found the location of WMA's headquarters on the map.
Camino Street was located not far from the intersection of Wilshire Boulevard and Santa Monica Boulevard, the busiest streets in Beverly Hills. Nearby was Century City Park, where media companies gathered, and 20th Century Fox Studios was located there. WMA's arch-rival, CAA headquarters, was also not far away.
After marking WMA's headquarters, Simon also found the address of the Writers Guild of America's headquarters and circled it as well.
The waiter brought his dinner, Simon filled his stomach, paid the bill, and left the restaurant.
Then he started to worry about how to leave Burbank.
In the 1980s, Los Angeles had neither public buses nor subways, and taxis were also extremely scarce, requiring phone reservations.
After wandering the streets for over half an hour, hoping to get lucky, Simon failed to find a taxi willing to take him. He realized he had underestimated the scarcity of public transportation in Los Angeles and regretted not shamelessly asking Kathryn to give him a ride.
Feeling resigned, he could only choose to stay at a hotel in Burbank.
Early the next morning, with the help of the hotel owner, Simon reserved a taxi by phone. After some haggling with the arriving driver, he finally paid $15, including a tip, and the driver took him to West Hollywood, on the other side of the Santa Monica Mountains.
Standing on Melrose Avenue, although there was still a long way to his destination, he would have to walk the rest of the way to save money. Fortunately, Simon had a whole day. Following the map's guidance, he walked south along Fairfax Avenue, a north-south street intersecting Melrose Avenue, for over twenty minutes, and arrived outside the Writers Guild of America (WGA) building.
Simon came here not to join the Writers Guild, as he wasn't eligible yet, but primarily to register the copyright of the script in his backpack.
According to federal copyright law, theoretically, creators automatically acquire copyright upon completion of their work. However, in reality, whether copyright registration has been made becomes crucial evidence in the event of a legal dispute.
In the United States, there are many ways to register copyrights, and there are even some privately run registration agencies.
The most authoritative among these is naturally the Copyright Office, but due to the notoriously low efficiency of U.S. government agencies, creators submitting registrations to the Copyright Office might have to wait four to six months to receive their copyright certificates, with an infuriatingly slow review process.
Therefore, in Hollywood, registering copyrights through the WGA became the first choice for most screenwriters.
With the materials and registration fees ready, one could usually get the registration certificate on the same day.
Of course, WGA registration also had its drawbacks: it only preserved registration materials for creators for five to ten years, requiring renewal fees upon expiration. Copyright Office registration, however, was permanent and offered more comprehensive protection in legal disputes.
After some deliberation, Simon still chose to submit both completed scripts in his possession for registration.
The registration fee for a single script was $20, and the cost for two scripts plus printing materials once again significantly depleted Simon's wallet. Leaving the WGA building, and thinking about the afternoon meeting, Simon made a copy of the "Butterfly Effect" script. Afterward, he also picked out an electronic watch for less than $2 at a street vendor.
By the time all this was done, it was already past noon.
After simply buying some food to fill his stomach, Simon rechecked his wallet. Yesterday's $198 had rapidly diminished to less than $97.
He felt a little helpless, but not too panicked.
At worst, he'd be homeless, but the possibility of starving to death was still very low. He could always find a church to get some free food stamps.
The scheduled time was 4 p.m., and to ensure everything went smoothly, Simon arrived near WMA headquarters half an hour early.
The WMA headquarters building on Camino Street was a very modern glass and steel structure. Although not tall, it appeared quite imposing compared to other uninspired commercial buildings around it. There was also a small plaza in front of the building, all of which undoubtedly showcased WMA's prominent position in Hollywood at the time.
As it neared 4 o'clock, Simon stepped into the WMA headquarters five minutes early.
He explained his purpose to the company's front desk receptionist, who made a phone call. A moment later, a white young man who looked to be under thirty came out to greet him. The young man was dressed in a professional white shirt and black trousers, tall and thin, wearing gold-rimmed glasses, with his deep brown side-parted hair meticulously styled, giving him a refined appearance.
After a brief introduction, Simon learned that the other party's name was Owen Wright, Jonathan Friedman's assistant, and then followed him into the building.
As he walked through the spacious corridor, which ran alongside the glass curtain wall, Simon noticed that the WMA employees around him were either hurrying or frowning, and some showed a hint of wariness in their eyes when they noticed his unfamiliar face.
Simon wasn't too surprised by this situation.
According to the information he knew, WMA had been undergoing a very serious upheaval in recent months.
In the first half of this year, both WMA's Chairman and CEO, Morris Stoller, and their President, Stan Kamen, passed away.
The vacancies caused by the deaths of the two core executives not only triggered internal power struggles within the company, but talent agencies like CAA and ICM also took advantage of WMA's instability to unceremoniously poach its talent.
Especially after Stan Kamen's death, all the A-list stars under this Hollywood golden agent, such as Al Pacino, Warren Beatty, Barbra Streisand, and Goldie Hawn, all defected to CAA, a change that directly severely weakened WMA.
Simon followed Owen Wright to an office. After waiting a moment in the lounge, a middle-aged white man with slightly greying hair pushed open the door and walked in from outside.
The middle-aged man looked to be around forty or fifty, wearing a grey suit, not too tall, just over 1.7 meters, with a lean build, deep-set eyes, a broad nose, and black hair.
"Sorry, I just finished a meeting," Jonathan Friedman said, walking straight towards Simon as he stood up, his gaze subtly assessing Simon, a gentle smile on his face, as he politely extended his hand and said, "So, Simon Westeros?"
Simon nodded, shook his hand, and said, "Hello, Mr. Friedman, it's a pleasure to meet you."
Jonathan Friedman nodded in response and then gestured for him to follow.
The two walked into the adjacent office, and the middle-aged man spoke familiarly, "This is the first time I've heard the surname 'Westeros,' so I remembered it immediately. Simon, that's an advantage for you. In Hollywood, it's not easy to be remembered."
Simon just smiled and didn't respond.
Jonathan Friedman motioned for Simon to sit opposite the desk. After taking his own seat, he rested his arms casually on the table, fingers loosely intertwined, and looked at the young man opposite him.
Around 180cm tall, very standard.
A well-defined face, brown hair, no youthful naivete of teenage actors, very photogenic.
Black T-shirt, jeans, simple and plain attire, yet possessing a calm confidence beyond his peers, very attractive to the opposite sex.
The potential makings of a popular young star.
He had the potential to develop into a Tom Cruise type; the recent box office hit "Top Gun" had certainly garnered a lot of attention.
Alas, this boy was introduced as a screenwriter.
Jonathan Friedman immediately lost much of his anticipation.
Good screenwriters need experience, and Jonathan Friedman didn't believe a young man in his early twenties could write any outstanding scripts. In fact, he even doubted whether this young man understood how to write a proper Hollywood script format.
In reality, Jonathan Friedman wasn't very familiar with Kathyrn.
Aside from occasional encounters at Hollywood gatherings, their most recent interaction was that one of Friedman's clients was vying for the male lead in a film Kathryn was about to direct.
It was for this reason that Jonathan Friedman agreed to today's meeting after receiving Kathyrn's recommendation call, seeing it as doing a favour for the beautiful woman who held some sway in the film's casting.
Jonathan Friedman's original plan was that if the person Kathryn introduced was decent, he would casually recommend them to WMA's literary department. After all, even a top-tier Hollywood screenwriter often brought in less income for an agent than a second-tier actor, and he had no plans to personally represent a screenwriter. If it didn't work out, he had at least given enough favour, so directly refusing wouldn't be inappropriate.
But at this moment, seeing Simon in person, Jonathan Friedman already had a mind to send Simon away as quickly as possible. He had just been promoted to WMA Vice President this month, and the company was in disarray recently. He was not in any mood to humour an overly ambitious young man.
Of course, Jonathan Friedman did not show these thoughts. He always believed that to be an excellent agent, maintaining a humble attitude at all times was essential.
After a brief internal assessment, Jonathan Friedman's tone remained gentle, with a hint of encouragement and expectation, as he said, "So, Simon, let's talk about your script shall we?"