When he received Cook’s call, Jas was still helping the kids with their howork. Among this group of truck drivers, he was one of the few with a "high education." Of course, this so-called high education doesn’t an he went to college or anything; he simply finished high school and attended a technical school for a year.
This technical school wasn’t one of those set up in factories to swindle educational subsidies with their training classes. It was a bona fide technical school where he learned truck driving and basic truck repair skills.
Back then, the truck repair skills of Cook and the others were all learned from Jas. He might not be the most conspicuous among the group, but to the small circle, he was an important core.
Sotis when people had problems, they would co to him for advice because he was the most educated.
Jas didn’t have a phone at ho. Installing a phone actually didn’t cost much money, but the problem was that having a phone installed didn’t have much practical value for them.
Nobody would call him all day, and there wasn’t anyone he needed to call all the ti either, so most ordinary families didn’t have phones, but they had "phones," public phones.
Every hundred ters or so, there would be a public phone booth. When they needed to fill out a family phone number, they would use this phone booth’s number. When the phone in the booth rang, soone on the street would answer it, and then...
"Jas, your call!" A scream like soone had encountered sothing terrifying rang out outside the window, and an unnecessary cross mark appeared on the child’s howork book.
Jas straightened up and walked to the window to see a neighbor standing outside the phone booth, holding the phone in one hand while looking at him. The voice was now softer, "It’s your call, Jas!"
"I’m not deaf!" he complained, although his tone wasn’t really of complaint but carried a hint of gratitude.
This is life in a neighborhood of ordinary people. They rarely say thank you seriously; sotis, they even use Marefak and a middle finger to replace expressions of thanks. But they understand gratitude and how to be grateful more than those ostensibly upright but secretly corrupt people of high society.
When he appeared by the receiver, he already held a thin pancake wrapped in newspaper. If you didn’t mind the possible ink stains, it was quite delicious.
The neighbor took the pancake, bumped his shoulder against his, handed over the phone, and then wandered away, eating the pancake as he strolled.
Nobody had a job. Other than wandering the street all day, they didn’t know what else to do. If they stayed ho, their wives would condemn them for their laziness and demand they go out on the streets to find work. Heaven knows why these won forget about equality at such tis.
After taking the call and nodding a few tis, Jas hung up. The call was from Cook, asking him to go sowhere now; he quietly morized the address.
Most drivers, whether car drivers or truck drivers, have this amazing ability to quickly locate a place in their minds based on detailed address information and even "see" the scenery around the location.
He stood downstairs, said a few words to his family, and left in a hurry.
With Lynch paying him, his life wasn’t as challenging as it was recently, and the atmosphere between him and his wife had beco much more harmonious.
Around nine o’clock in the evening, Jas arrived outside a villa. Facing a huge, luxurious mansion, Jas felt very nervous. He flexed his palms, finding them sweaty and sticky, which was quite uncomfortable.
He thought he would wait for the sweat in his palms to dry before going in, but surprisingly, Cook ca out to et him. He had no choice but to wipe his hands on his pants.
"Is there sothing urgent for you to call here so late?" Jas asked softly on the way.
Cook’s expression was a bit peculiar, "Haven’t you always told us stories? Your chance has co!"
He actually didn’t believe that Jas could win these big shots’ favor, and he felt a bit envious and jealous because he knew that if Jas succeeded, he would beco different from them.
Cook was overthinking because even if Jas beca a scriptwriter, he wouldn’t beco that important since scriptwriters are the least valuable!
Yes, the least valuable.
Directors protested, the capitalists compromised.
Actors protested, the capitalists compromised.
Behind-the-scenes staff protested, the capitalists compromised.
Even film critics, who have little to do with movies, protested, and the capitalists compromised, too.
Only when the scriptwriters protested, the capitalists pointed to the door and told them, "Get out of my sight imdiately!"
Alright, although he didn’t understand, it still couldn’t stop him from feeling a little envious and jealous, not wanting Jas to succeed and not believing it either.
But as a good friend, he hoped Jas could succeed; at least he retained so hope in his heart.
He briefly explained the situation, and Jas beca even more tense instead of relieved.
He knew this was his chance to change his life; he wouldn’t give up and didn’t want to give up.
With a muddled mind, accompanied by Cook, Jas appeared in the villa’s living room. Besides Lynch, the young boss, there were two other bosses who looked evidently wealthy, along with so fashionably dressed young people.
They might not be extrely rich, but their faces bore a kind of arrogance, a look Jas had seen on so college students—pride in themselves and disdain for the world. After all, in this era, those who could afford college weren’t at the bottom.
He beca more nervous, and Lynch offered him a drink, instructing Cook to give it to him, "Don’t be nervous, I invited you just to have a chat. But first, check out a script and tell us what you think."
Cook handed Jas the drink and the script, and the latter drank a bit, instantly relaxing sowhat.
Actually, it wasn’t the alcohol that worked; it was just a psychological cue, sothing he did himself without the drink affecting him—an almost reflexive response conditioned by society.
He read seriously, and about ten minutes later, he closed the script and let out a heavy sigh, "An excellent script. The author must have referenced so mythological or religious stories in writing this, as it’s full of various taphors."
Little Fox and his schoolmates beside him showed smiles, but these smiles didn’t last long because Jas made them retract their smiles promptly.
"This kind of script can win awards, but the audience doesn’t like it. They want relaxation and joy..."
He spoke his mind bravely; over the past two years, he wrote several scripts and sold them to film companies and the directors’ union, which initially, he couldn’t achieve.
Back then, he was like the script’s author, wanting to prove his worth artistically, and all his scripts were rejected until he studied many blockbuster films, began giving up certain insistences, and succeeded.
Successfully pitched his scripts, becoming part of the reserves for film companies or directors’ unions, hence his qualification to evaluate this script.
Lynch nodded with satisfaction, "So, what do you think makes this story appealing?"
Jas had relaxed a lot, and this was one of his strengths. He wasn’t nervous, "Remove the complex storyline, simplify the story, add trendy elents—aliens, spaceships, highway killings, tomato sauce, and actresses without clothes..."
"Adult-rated?" one of the script’s creators sneered, not saying more, but the laugh coupled with his remark seed to deride Jas for his critique of their work, showing his limited capability.
Using sensory stimuli to grab the audience’s attention is the most vulgar approach, and sothing they wouldn’t choose to do.
Jas, facing these young people—still college students—handled it much better than Lynch imagined. He did not retort angrily or curse but, in a mocking tone, raised the script in his hand, "This is also an adult-rated script."
Those mocking him fell silent imdiately, their faces unpleasant. Investors directly rejected their script, and peers didn’t approve of them, making them sowhat annoyed.
One of them proactively stepped forward, took the script back from Jas, glanced contemptuously at Lynch and Mr. Fox, then bid farewell and left, implying they’d realize how foolish their choice was in the future.
Others also got up and bid farewell. Since they couldn’t attract investnt from Fox, there was no reason to continue wasting ti here.
Little Fox felt a bit awkward; actually, by this ti, he realized the purpose of these classmates, schoolmates’ visit was to attract investnt or, put bluntly, to swindle money, which embarrassed him as he doubted Mr. Fox’s judgnt earlier.
Lynch didn’t mind this; he simply looked at Jas playfully, "If you were to rewrite this script, how long would it take?"
Jas’s heart began to race; he vaguely sensed he was on the brink of grasping his chance—a new life he longed for was facing him.
After careful consideration, he gave a fairly reasonable ti—three days.
The three who decided first to review Jas’s script asked Cook and Jas to leave because they had other matters to discuss.
Lynch was a very professional and dedicated person. Upon knowing Fox’s plan had begun, he never considered not getting involved.
No matter what, these would bring him wealth and influence and lay a foundation for his mythical status in the business world.
He wanted to discuss with this father and son how to make so money before the film was even shot!
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