"Alright, this one's tough: Anson Wood or Brad Pitt?"
"Oh, my God, this question is impossible. Ugh, it's killing !"
"Hurry, you've got to pick one."
"I an, Brad is so sexy, but Anson has the most beautiful eyes in the world. I'd sleep with Brad and then date Anson."
"You're so greedy!"
Giggling and playful banter.
The girls waiting in line to order couldn't help but excitedly chat away, completely unaware that one of the subjects of their conversation was standing right behind them.
To be honest, Anson didn't expect this situation.
Him? Being compared to Brad Pitt in the sa question? Is this the kind of buzz that "Spider-Man" has in North Arica right now?
More importantly, he was now absolutely certain that he had returned to Los Angeles—
Conversations like this just wouldn't happen in Portland.
In just ten days, while Portland remained the sa, Los Angeles had transford into a whole new city, with even daily life showing subtle changes.
At that mont, Anson was glad he was wearing a Kansas City Chiefs baseball cap.
Blonde hair, still the sa blonde hair. Anson hadn't rushed to dye it back, but what worked in Portland might not work in Los Angeles, so Anson wore a cap just to be safe. And now, in the coffee shop, his choice was validated.
"So, what about you? Sa question: Brad or Anson?"
"I'd pick Brad."
"Oh, you didn't even hesitate! I thought Anson was your type. You've changed!"
"In terms of looks, yes; but personality-wise, I think he might just be another typical Hollywood guy, you know, 'ambition bigger than his talent,' or 'thinks he's the center of the universe.' That kind of personality, I can't handle."
"Why? Because of the indie film?"
"Sort of. I feel like he's gotten carried away with the success of 'Spider-Man.' Everyone's praising him, and now he really thinks he can do anything."
"But it's just an indie film…"
"Who knows? Maybe he thinks he can win an Oscar too."
A voice interjected, "No, he doesn't think that."
"Ha, guys like that are a di a dozen in Hollywood. Not just an Oscar, he probably thinks he can conquer all the major European film festivals too."
The voice responded again, "Ha, maybe he should start with Sundance first?"
"See, ambition!" the girl remarked sarcastically. It was only then that she realized the last two lines weren't part of her conversation with her friend but ca from a man—a stranger.
Sothing felt off.
The girl abruptly stopped talking, turned around, and looked behind her. "Hey, mister, eavesdropping on people's conversations is very rude."
"Sorry," the man didn't argue, instead offering a straightforward apology. "The discussion was right in front of , and I thought I should defend myself."
The girl turned to find a tall, imposing figure behind her. As she slowly looked up, she finally saw the face hidden under the baseball cap—
Stunned.
Mouth agape in an "O" shape, she stood there, wide-eyed and frozen.
Question: What do you do when you're caught bad-mouthing soone behind their back? And what if that person happens to be the very one you've been fantasizing about? Asking for a friend. Urgently.
Anson stifled a laugh but didn't say anything more. "It's your turn to order."
The two girls were completely paralyzed, clinging to each other for support, and quickly stepped aside, awkwardly and incoherently offering Anson to go ahead.
Anson didn't stand on ceremony. He knew if he stayed any longer, the two girls might stop breathing altogether. So, with a nod of thanks, he ordered six coffees, pulled out a fifty-dollar bill, and handed it to the cashier with a smile.
"Pay for theirs as well. Keep the change as a tip."
The cashier shivered with excitent, a smile spreading across her face as she leaned forward, "I think working with Gus Van Sant is a great idea. I'm really looking forward to your next film."
"Ha. Thanks." Anson smiled, nodded at the now-stunned crowd in the coffee shop, and walked out with his tray of coffees.
Just before leaving, Anson called out.
"Cut!"
In Los Angeles, those words were like Cinderella's midnight chi, breaking the spell and bringing the coffee shop back to life—
"Was that Anson?"
"Wait, was that really him?"
"Aaaaah!"
The small space was suddenly abuzz with excitent.
Anson didn't stop, continuing straight ahead toward Sound City Studios.
Now, Anson finally understood why Edgar had called him early that morning, telling him to ignore the dia.
"There's no need to pay attention to them. It's called manufacturing news."
"No news? Just create so buzz. That's their job."
"Those headlines don't an anything; they're just clickbait."
When Anson asked what the news was about, Edgar had dodged the question, saying it wasn't important. That only piqued Anson's curiosity—
It was about *"Elephant."*
Apparently, Edgar was worried that Anson might be anxious about the success of his next project and that the dia's hype wouldn't help.
But Anson wasn't worried about *"Elephant's"* success. Even if he were, as a journalism student, Anson knew that in the age of the internet, dia is all about the clicks. He wasn't about to be bothered by headlines designed purely to attract attention.
Besides, he didn't expect *"Elephant"* to earn him any acting nominations. To him, being part of the project and making a statent was more important than the film's success.
And once the film was released, the audience would judge for themselves. Ti would reveal the movie's true value.
No need to rush.
When the dia accused Anson of being too eager for success, who was really the one being impatient?
It's like the half-glass-of-water theory—different people with different perspectives see the sa situation in entirely different ways.
In other words, those who are overly ambitious see ambition, while actors might just see a film, a role, or a collaboration.
Hollywood was still the Hollywood Anson knew.
So Anson didn't plan to respond—
Of course, there wasn't really anything worth responding to in the first place.
Right now, Anson had more important things to deal with. After wrapping up *"Elephant,"* he rushed back to Los Angeles to get back into the recording studio.
Creak.
As he pushed open the studio door, he was imdiately t with the sound of passionate debate.
"No, no, no. The cello doesn't work here. The arrangent needs to be as simple as possible. The cello's presence ruins the balance."
"I think the arrangent is too simple. The guitar and bass chords are so basic, they sound monotonous. We can't repeat the sa four chords for the whole song…"
"Why not? How many Beatles classics are just simple, basic chords? Are you saying their music isn't legendary?"
"I don't even like the Beatles!"
"What?! How dare you!"
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