[Note: As per the poll created in patreon, this novel got the highest votes. This is a completed novel started in 2014 and finished in 2018. I will try to make this novel up to date.]
[Chapter 1: Hollywood 1988]
"Hey, Eric, steak for table nine."
"Oh, right," Eric replied, sowhat clumsily bringing two plates of steak to a couple seated by the window. Once he finished, he returned to his original spot, leaning against the counter and lost in thought.
It was July 13, 1988, three days into his new life, at an Italian restaurant in North Hollywood. Eric turned to gaze at the faint reflection in the glass window nearby -- a figure about six feet tall, with a chiseled jaw, a prominent nose, and short, curly blonde hair. This was him now.
Just a few days before, Eric had been working as an advertising director. He graduated at 24 from a prestigious film school, having dread of becoming an internationally renowned director. After ten years of climbing that uphill battle, he learned the hard truth of reality. With his solid yet unrecognized talents, he had managed to gain so fa as an advertising director. At 35, he got married, and a year later, his son was born. He finally settled down, trading his dreams for diaper money. Years later, after a reunion with long-lost classmates, he wound up drinking too much and ultimately dozed off, lost in nostalgia.
Like the start of any thrill or not-so-thrill story, he woke up only to find everything changed. He discovered he had returned to the past, transford into a high school graduate nad Eric Williams.
"Eric, you alright?" A chubby hand landed on Eric's shoulder, giving it a gentle pat. He turned to see Jeff Jones, the restaurant owner.
"Sorry, Jeff. I zoned out again."
"No problem," Jeff rubbed his hands, contemplating his words, then continued, "I'm really sorry about Ralph, but life goes on, doesn't it? Hang in there, Eric."
Ralph Williams, Eric's father, was a brilliant Italian chef who had worked in this restaurant for many years. Despite his culinary talent, Ralph had a nasty habit -- he was an alcoholic. According to the mories left by Eric's predecessor, Ralph's drinking problem was likely tied to a mother he never t; in modern terms, he was a man with a story. A month prior, Ralph had succumbed to acute alcohol poisoning after an overdose.
"Thanks, Jeff. I wouldn't know how to get through this without your help." Eric spoke, turmoil enveloping him after Ralph's death. He had recently applied to the University of California, but now his hopes of attending college vanished, as even public universities charged around twenty grand a year for tuition, not to ntion other expenses. Being Ralph's boss and friend, Jeff sat down with Eric for a chat, which led Eric to start working as a waiter at the restaurant. After all, as Jeff had said, life had to continue.
"Ralph worked here so many years; it's the least I could do. But I can only do so much, the rest is up to you."
Eric nodded with gratitude as he watched Jeff walk away, mulling over his words. Sowhere in the back of his mind, if so mischievous deity sent him back to over thirty years ago in Hollywood, he couldn't settle for being a naless restaurant server; that would surely infuriate that deity.
Three days after realizing his predicant, Eric initially felt excitent, but soon that excitent faded into confusion. In his past life, he had been a standout student at film school but had never realized his dreams, ultimately surrendering to reality. Now, without a diploma or connections, even applying for the most basic job at a film studio wouldn't guarantee success.
...
After a busy day, Eric drove away from the Italian restaurant in a Ford sedan left behind by his dad. Following Ralph's death, he considered selling the car to help with expenses. However, after landing the waiter job, he opted to keep it -- after all, this was a country on wheels and life was much easier with a car.
As he passed by a movie theater, Eric noticed a poster for Rambo III, showcasing Sylvester Stallone in his pri, muscles rippling in a tank top against a snowy mountain and helicopter backdrop. On a whim, Eric parked nearby, inquiring about showtis. With luck, a film was about to start, so he bought a ticket and headed inside.
Since it wasn't during peak hours, only about thirty to forty people filled the two hundred- seat auditorium, and Eric took his seat.
Soon, the lights dimd, and the film began. Colonel Trautman invited Rambo, living in self- imposed exile in Thailand, to take on a mission in Afghanistan, but Rambo declined. After Trautman was captured, Rambo ard himself once more to rescue his friend...
In his previous life, Eric had watched all of Stallone's movies, often more than once. He purchased the ticket partly because he recalled Stallone's journey and his own past. During those ten grueling years, whenever he felt like giving up, he'd draw inspiration from motivational stories, including Stallone's legendary acting career.
As the story unfolded, Eric collected his scattered thoughts and focused on the movie. Gradually, he sat up straighter, realizing that due to having seen this film before, he instinctively thought about what would happen next. To his surprise, he found each subsequent scene playing out clearly in his mind. He rembered every shot, every line, even every piece of score in the film.
As excitent bubbled inside him, he closed his eyes and whimsically picked a favorite, Titanic, directed by Caron, and found the sa remarkable clarity -- he recalled every second. He tried to conjure mories of films he had only heard of but never seen, but nothing ca to him; he realized he could only rember things he had already watched, yet that alone was more than enough.
When he first transmigrated in this reality, Eric had thought of claiming so future films as his own. However, as a professional director, he knew how impossible that would be; he could write similar scripts at best. But now, realizing he held a treasure trove of mories from his past life, Eric understood the implications -- it ant he could almost perfectly recreate all the classics he had seen, provided he had the ans.
His heart raced with exhilaration as he walked out of the theater, the anticipation of reaching the pinnacle of his career inspiring him. At that mont, he knew with such vast resources stored in his mind, failing just like his past life would be unacceptable; it would be better to drown himself in straight-up water than to let this opportunity slip away.
*****
spatreon/Sayonara816.
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