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(Bobbi - Barbara)
"So you ca to Hollywood to see whether you should switch careers and beco a star? I can guarantee your odds would be excellent." Henry took a sip of coffee as he said it.
"Haha, you're not the first to tell that," Bobbi said, eyes glinting with amusent. "People always say brains don't have an expiration date, but beauty does. If I don't cash in now and leave behind my most glamorous mories, I'll regret it later."
Henry snorted. "If all you want is to make quick money from your looks, Penthouse or Playboy would be more straightforward. Acting? That's another beast entirely. Beauty and intelligence only get you part of the way.
"You still need soone willing to back you. You need luck. And at the very least, you need real acting chops. Otherwise you won't just regret entering Hollywood — you'll wish you never set foot here."
"That's… not wrong," Bobbi admitted with a laugh.
Henry let that topic go and shifted to sothing practical. "So you've been in L.A. a few days. Any places you haven't visited yet but want to?"
"Hmm… is there a neighborhood with lots of gangs, where people pull out guns over nothing?"
Henry's smile froze.
Ah. Testing my courage already?
But then Bobbi burst into a mischievous grin, clearly delighted in her own prank. "Relax, I was kidding. I've only visited a few landmarks downtown. Can you take around Hollywood today?"
Henry downed the rest of his coffee. "Of course. My car's just around the corner. Want to walk over together or wait here while I drive it over?"
She glanced at her outfit — T-shirt, jeans, running shoes, a casual coat — fully mobile, no high heels in sight.
"We can walk. You didn't park far, right?"
"Right on the next street."
"Then lead the way."
Since this wasn't a date, the two naturally paid for their own als. No awkwardness, no posturing — clean and simple.
Still, Henry was polite as ever. He opened the café door for her, walked half a step ahead on the sidewalk, guiding her without crowding her.
Along the way Bobbi asked, "Gary said you acted in movies. Is that true?"
"Background roles. Mostly low-budget direct-to-video stuff."
"I heard there was a big production?"
"You an Steven Seagal's Hard to Kill? Yeah, I worked on that one… kind of. Just another background extra. Sothing happened during filming and I left early. When the theatrical cut ca out — surprise — not a fra of remained."
"Cut out completely?"
"Editing belongs to the producer. I got paid. Nothing to complain about."
"You don't feel cheated?"
"What's there to be angry about?" Henry said calmly.
"Hollywood has too many talented actors, too many beautiful people. Too few chances to go around. If it's not , it'll be soone else.
"And everything cos with a price. You either put in endless ti and effort to outshine others… or you give up sothing else in exchange — money, dignity, whatever.
"I just wanted to see the glamour up close. I was never planning to claw my way upward. So if soone else gets the shot, well — that's how it's supposed to be."
Bobbi blinked, genuinely surprised. "So you're not trying to get famous. You ca here just to look at movie stars?"
Henry sighed. "Honestly? I don't know what I want yet. That's the curse of not having any formal education. A lot of jobs are off-limits.
"These past months, I've just been drifting, taking whatever work I can. If you can finish your degree, trust — do it. Unless you know exactly where you're going after dropping out."
He wasn't lying — his black-clinic inco was unstable, and ever since the FBI incident he'd kept things low-key. "Odd jobs" was the perfect summary.
Before Bobbi could press the topic further, Henry said, "Ah, here we are." He pointed proudly. "My Cadillac. Old car, but runs beautifully."
He opened the rear door for her by habit, but Bobbi lightly touched his arm. "Mind if I sit up front?"
Front seat ant equality — not being chauffeured.
Henry blinked, mildly surprised, then smiled and closed the back door before opening the passenger side. "Of course. After you, Miss Bobbi."
"Thank you."
Once he climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine, their Hollywood tour officially began.
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The trip hit all the essentials.
First stop: the Hollywood Walk of Fa.
Two thousand stars embedded in the pavent. Actors, directors, musicians, radio hosts, TV icons — the whole constellation of Arican entertainnt.
Henry, with his absurd mory, could have spent a month walking Bobbi through every single na and achievent.
But Bobbi was a college student, not an obsessed film buff. She paused only at stars she recognized from movies or big nas she'd grown up hearing about. The rest she skimd over like a glossy magazine spread.
Next: Grauman's Chinese Theatre.
Site of Oscar ceremonies, countless premieres, and the famous courtyard full of celebrity handprints, footprints, and signatures pressed into concrete.
Then: Beverly Hills.
Wealth, status, and ego wrapped in sunlight. Rodeo Drive glead like a museum of luxury — designer storefronts transford into art displays.
Even without buying anything, the spectacle alone was worth the look.
And if you were lucky, you might bump into an A-lister or two.
Final highlight: the Griffith Observatory.
Overlooking the entire Los Angeles basin, with the iconic HOLLYWOOD sign perched on the distant hillside. A must-visit for any tourist, and an excellent place for pictures.
Henry guided, Bobbi listened, the city sparkled in winter sunlight.
A simple tour — but a seamless one.
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