1674-1676

Chapter 1674: Taking a Step Further 

Ha. 

Scarlett looked at Anson, her laughter bubbling up, impossible to contain. 

Hahaha. 

Her laughter echoed through the night. 

The bright, carefree sound left Anson a bit helpless. He spread his hands. “What? Something off? Too much chicken soup for the soul? Or is this not the right place for a heart-to-heart?” 

His expression only made Scarlett laugh harder. “No, it’s just… I’m happy. Happy that someone would say something like that to me.” 

Her eyes sparkled as she looked at him. “Thank you.” 

It was like she’d rediscovered her confidence, slipping back into her usual poised and radiant self. Even in the dark, Scarlett shone. 

Anson’s lips curved into a smile. “If you’re grateful, then say yes to the cameo.” 

Scarlett’s mouth dropped open, her face a mix of shock and amusement. “Oh, so that’s your real motive, huh? Anson Wood, your fox tail’s showing.” 

Anson didn’t mind. “Welcome to Hollywood. Now you know—around here, in this tiny little world, there are no real friends.” 

“Look, I know it’s just a small role, not much screen time, but I genuinely want you on board. You’d bring some spark to our set.” 

Scarlett’s expression turned thoughtful. “Two projects… which one do you think I should join?” 

Anson replied, “Your choice. One hundred percent your call. Either way, you’d be a huge help, and it’s a win for me no matter what.” 

Scarlett teased, “Oh, now you’re putting me in a tough spot.” 

Anson grinned. “Scarlett Jansen, welcome back. Seeing you in the mood to joke and banter makes me feel like tonight wasn’t a waste.” 

Her bright laughter filled the air, and Anson couldn’t help but chuckle along. 

“Look, both projects have their own vibe.” 

“The Hangover is lighter, more fun. I think the set will be full of laughs. We’d just need to dial up your charm, make the audience fall for the character. It’s about taking stereotypes, blowing them up, and then flipping them on their head within the movie’s framework.” 

“Children of Men, though—it’s full of uncertainty. You could call it a challenge or an adventure. The subject’s heavier, the role and story more intense. You’d need to let go of everything you know about acting so far and bring something entirely new to the character. A total transformation.” 

Scarlett laughed. “No, no, no, I don’t need the sales pitch. Come on, Anson, give me some real talk.” 

Anson looked a bit exasperated—he was being real. 

He believed the choice should be hers. Both projects had their pros and cons, and any advice should come from her agent’s expertise. 

Scarlett pressed, “Come on, as a friend. Not a producer.” 

Anson raised an eyebrow. “Friend?” 

Scarlett nodded firmly. “Yeah, friend.” 

Anson thought for a moment. “Children of Men.” 

Scarlett looked surprised. “Oh? Why?” 

Anson didn’t answer right away, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. 

“Tonight, you asked me when’s the right time to change, to break through. I don’t think there’s a perfect answer—just trust your gut.” 

“That’s the truth, and I still stand by it.” 

“I believe you’re feeling the pressure and the rut right now. That means, deep down, you’re already sensing a crisis. Instead of hesitating and overthinking, why not seize the courage you have now and break through? If you wait until the audience has locked you into a stereotype, it’ll be too late.” 

Scarlett tilted her head. “But why Children of Men?” 

Anson explained, “The Hangover is still in your comfort zone. The challenge and growth are limited—a gentle shift, low stakes.” 

“If you want to gradually reshape your image, that’s a solid choice.” 

“But we both know that without something disruptive, there’s no real impact. You won’t truly shake up the stereotypes. That’s why Hollywood agents always push actors to take bold risks.” 

“Especially for child stars—Macaulay Culkin, Drew Barrymore, Lindsay Lohan, and so on. Nudity, edge, gore—it’s like that’s the only way to scream ‘I’m grown up’ and pivot. But that B-movie route rarely works. It often traps them in another extreme.” 

Scarlett caught the key point. “Jodie Foster didn’t.” 

Jodie Foster burst onto the scene with Taxi Driver at just fourteen. 

Anson nodded. “Yes and no.” 

“Jodie transformed with The Accused and won an Oscar at twenty-six. On the surface, it looks like she broke through with pure acting. But in reality, her role in The Accused still pushed boundaries, challenging the audience’s nerves.” 

In The Accused, Jodie played a woman assaulted in a bar after drinking—not a perfect victim, but that didn’t justify the horrific crime. 

“So, if you want to break the mold, Children of Men is the better fit.” 

Scarlett raised an eyebrow. “Like The Accused?” 

Anson clarified, “A bit different. In Children of Men, you’d need to dig deep into your own sadness, pain, and understanding of life’s meaning in a dystopian world. It’s a role that shows Scarlett Jansen’s range as an actor, no shock value needed—just pure performance.” 

Scarlett found herself caught up in Anson’s words, her heart beating faster. “But what if I make a full one-eighty and the audience doesn’t buy it?” 

Anson nodded. “That’s a possible outcome.” 

Scarlett waited, but he didn’t continue. “And? No ‘but’?” 

Anson spread his hands. “Nope. That’s the risk we take.” 

His honesty was both absurd and amusing, and Scarlett burst out laughing. 

Only then did Anson continue, “But…” 

Scarlett’s smile widened, her eyes saying, Got you. 

Anson didn’t mind. “If this were right after Lost in Translation blew up, I’d say the timing’s off. People just fell in love with that version of you—flipping it completely would be reckless. To some extent, we still need to play to the market.” 

“But Lost in Translation was a year and a half ago, and you’ve done other projects since. You’ve got more coming up, too.” 

“In other words, by the time Children of Men finishes filming, post-production, and hits theaters, the shift in your image might align perfectly with what the audience is ready for.” 

“Most importantly, I believe you can show Hollywood you’re more than one type of role.” 

Scarlett grew quiet, mulling it over. 

The Butterfly Effect, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind—it was similar. They seemed sudden, but the signs and groundwork were already there. 

Elephant premiered at Cannes. 

Scarlett looked up at Anson. “So, is this a commercial film or an art film? Are you aiming for festivals or awards season?” 

Anson laughed outright. 

Scarlett frowned, confused. 

Grinning, Anson explained, “Here’s the thing: we’re not labeling it. The line between commercial and art is completely blurred.” 

“In other words, we don’t have a clear position yet.” 

Chapter 1675: Caught in the Act 

Scarlett couldn’t believe her ears, staring at Anson in disbelief. “No positioning at all? You’re joking, right?” 

“Anson Wood, marketing genius, production prodigy, and you’re telling me you didn’t think through the creative direction or market positioning before starting a project?” 

“No way!” 

Standing in the night, Scarlett radiated her familiar vibrant energy—the Scarlett Anson knew, the one from his memories. 

Anson’s lips curved into a slight smile. “Thanks for the compliments. I had no idea my reputation was so stellar. I’m a little flattered.” 

Scarlett wasn’t buying it. “Ha. Ha.” 

Anson chuckled softly. “All true, I swear. Believe my sincerity. Didn’t you notice? I’m only offering you supporting roles, not leads. That’s because, without a clear positioning, there’s more risk involved. I wouldn’t dare drag you into that with me.” 

Scarlett still wasn’t convinced, rolling her eyes and staring at him. 

Anson sighed, raising his hands in surrender. “Fine, you saw through me.” 

Scarlett pressed, “No need to butter me up. I know what you’re capable of. Even with giants like Sony Columbia and Warner Bros., you hold your own. So, obviously, you’re playing me on purpose, dangling a flaw to hook me. Well, I’m hooked. Spill the truth.” 

Anson laughed brightly. “That’s my Scarlett.” 

With a playful jab, he didn’t wait for her response and continued. 

“Scarlett, ‘commercial’ and ‘art’—those labels are Hollywood’s illusions.” 

“A movie that makes money is ‘commercial,’ and one that doesn’t is ‘art.’ But we forget: Titanic raked in billions and still swept the Oscars. Is that commercial or art? And some movies that flop aren’t art—they’re just bad.” 

“Like Woody Allen said, people think he’s an intellectual because he wears glasses and an artist because his films don’t make money. Both are misconceptions.” 

Scarlett burst out laughing. 

“Of course, I know these distinctions have some practical meaning. I’m not trying to upend Hollywood or rewrite market rules. That’s too big a burden for my scrawny shoulders.” 

“I just think so-called commercial films can still provoke thought. We didn’t reject Terminator 2 for its take on doomsday, right? And so-called art films can draw crowds to theaters. Forrest Gump’s box office crown doesn’t lie.” 

“If you adjust for inflation, Gone with the Wind is still the all-time box office champ—a milestone in film history.” 

Scarlett’s thoughts began to clarify. “So you’re saying you’re making Children of Men with the pacing, effects, and structure of a commercial blockbuster but weaving in deeper themes and discussions.” 

Anson snapped his fingers. “Exactly.” 

“There’ll be lots of explosions. Lots. Like Michael Bay levels.” 

Scarlett shot him a deadpan look. “What, you gonna throw in a high-angle missile shot?” 

Anson rubbed his chin. “Worth considering.” 

Scarlett couldn’t hold it in and cracked up. 

In Pearl Harbor, Michael Bay crafted a shot following a missile’s tail as it plummeted from the sky, a free-fall bombing sequence. He was proud of it, certain it’d be a showstopper that sparked buzz. It didn’t. 

It was impressive, sure, but the shot lacked resonance or impact—just empty flexing. 

Scarlett stopped joking. “So, you’re not lacking ambition. You’re full of it.” 

Anson nodded. “Of course. We’re a small company with limited funds, so every project has to hit the mark. Our margin for error is tiny.” 

“And we’re not DreamWorks. We don’t have the clout to secure big bank loans.” 

“So, Scarlett, we need you.” 

Scarlett froze, looking up. Anson’s eyes reflected a sea of stars in the night. 

He continued, “That’s why I extended the invite. As I said, a genuine, heartfelt invite. At least, please consider it seriously, okay?” 

Scarlett stared at him, stunned. 

Those blue eyes brimmed with sincerity and focus, reflecting her face as if she were the only person in the world. A gentle, radiant light seemed to envelop her, the howling wind fading into the endless night. The world grew strangely quiet, save for the thundering of her heartbeat against her eardrums. 

Everything stilled. 

For a fleeting moment, Scarlett wanted to stand on her toes and kiss those lips, as if reaching out could embrace the entire universe. 

The impulse clawed its way out of her chest. 

But a sliver of reason yanked her back from the edge, barely keeping her in check. 

They were friends. Friends. 

Cross that line, and their friendship might never be the same. No going forward, no stepping back—she could lose this friend forever. 

She didn’t want that. 

Besides, she hadn’t forgotten her troubles and pain, laid bare to Anson tonight. Would she really walk right back into the trap, letting herself sink into the quicksand of bias and misunderstanding? 

No. She refused. 

Before tonight, Scarlett might’ve followed her heart, running wild without restraint or overthinking. But after tonight, with her vulnerabilities, fears, and confusion settling deep in her soul, she’d found a safe harbor in Hollywood’s ruthless game. Her mindset had shifted. 

She’d finally found a friend—a real friend, trustworthy, dependable, respectable. She didn’t want to ruin it with her own hands. 

She was a fearless madwoman, but she hadn’t completely lost her mind. 

That thread of reason held her back. Scarlett forced herself to look away. 

It wasn’t easy. Her heart pounded wildly, like it might explode any second. 

Grasping for balance, she said, “You keep looking at me like that, and I might get the wrong idea. Is this you pulling a charm offensive?” 

Anson’s voice came through the night. “Ah, caught me. What a shame.” 

Scarlett turned, stunned, and saw the mischief in his eyes, glinting with playful intent. It loosened the tight knot in her chest, but her heart raced even faster, wilder. 

“Oh, God, Anson Wood!” 

Her exclamation accidentally betrayed her true emotions. 

Anson caught it, watching her quietly. 

Scarlett’s guilt surged, and she quickly looked away, panicking, wondering if he’d seen through her and how much. A fleeting glance at him, and her eyes met his— 

Caught! 

Chapter 1676: No One Around 

Caught red-handed! 

Anson’s eyes locked onto Scarlett’s, catching the flicker of panic and unease in her gaze. It was a far cry from the usual bold, confident Scarlett, almost... shy. 

Anson had never seen this side of her before. 

“Aha!” 

His eyes lit up like he’d discovered a new continent. Scarlett quickly averted her gaze, turning toward the dark horizon, but it was too late. 

“Wait, don’t tell me you just felt your heart skip a beat... did you?” 

Scarlett’s secret was exposed. “Ugh, Anson, you’re so annoying!” 

Anson burst into laughter. “Haha, oh Scarlett, please be careful. Don’t fall for me. It’ll only lead to heartbreak and bitterness.” 

Scarlett rolled her eyes to the heavens and kicked Anson’s shin. “One second. Just one second. No need to make a big deal out of it. Look at you, so smug.” 

“It could happen to anyone. My heart’s always beating, isn’t it? Forget people—even a cute cat or dog can make it flutter.” 

“All this talk about ‘heart skipping’—it’s just breathing, isn’t it? What’s there to fuss about? Oh my God, Anson Wood, you’re regressing.” 

Her words tumbled out, one after another. 

Anson lifted his chin smugly. “Explaining is just covering up. Too late.” 

Scarlett groaned, pressing her hand to her forehead. “I’m done for. My reputation, ruined by you.” 

Anson waved it off. “No big deal. So many people are into me now, the line of fans could stretch across Route 66. One more won’t hurt.” 

“No surprise there. You’re just an ordinary guy, after all. It’s understandable—you, like most people, can’t resist my charm.” 

He even spread his arms, his expression dripping with arrogance. 

Scarlett squinted at him. “Keep yapping, and I’ll turn your fifth vertebra into a sixth.” She cracked her knuckles, her grin widening. 

But in that moment, Scarlett had zero intimidation factor—nothing like the commanding Black Widow she’d later become. The scene was less scary and more comical. 

Anson, knowing when to quit, backed off gracefully. “What I mean is, think it over carefully.” 

“I’m sure you’ve got tons of project offers right now. You don’t need to worry about work, and you probably wouldn’t even glance at supporting roles. We’re not exactly competitive.” 

“But everything I said tonight was sincere. I believe you could find something special in these two projects, maybe even a breakthrough.” 

Focused. Earnest. 

Scarlett looked at Anson and, out of nowhere, said, “Okay.” 

Anson blinked, caught off guard. “What?” 

His reaction only made Scarlett feel clearer, more certain. 

Maybe it was a bit impulsive. Maybe she should cool off and think it through. Maybe she should draw a line between friendship and work. But after all the back-and-forth in her mind, she realized overthinking and weighing options was just a tug-of-war of pros and cons. Better to trust her gut, as Anson had said. 

So, Scarlett nodded again. “I said, okay.” 

“Children of Men. Let’s do it together.” 

As the words left her mouth, a weight lifted. A spark of excitement and anticipation stirred in her veins, eager and alive. 

A glint of joy flashed in Anson’s eyes. He knew how these things worked—he hadn’t expected to seal the deal tonight. Things usually took time. But, against all odds, it had come together just like that. 

Anson tilted his chin, studying Scarlett with a focused expression. 

Scarlett raised an eyebrow. “What?” 

He shook his head. “Nothing. Just marveling at how you still fell for my charm in those suit pants. The pretty-boy strategy never fails.” 

Scarlett groaned. “Anson! Wood!” 

But before she could say more, Anson pressed a finger to his lips. “Shh, keep it down. You don’t want TMZ’s paparazzi sniffing around.” 

Scarlett’s frustration bubbled into laughter. “Does TMZ know how shameless you are?” 

Anson grinned, unfazed. “Of course. Why do you think they’re so scared of me? That’s the real reason behind all those Hollywood rumors.” 

Scarlett stared at him, dumbfounded, then let out a dry “Heh.” Her laughter broke free, blooming fully. “Haha! I just had a wild thought. All this ‘authenticity’ you keep emphasizing to the media—it’s just a persona, isn’t it?” 

Anson threw up his hands. “Busted.” 

Scarlett: ? 

“Now that you know my biggest secret, I’ll have to silence you,” Anson teased. “Sorry, Scarlett, our collaboration will have to wait for next time.” 

Scarlett: “...Get lost!” 

The two of them bantered and teased, walking aimlessly through the night, chatting and laughing. It felt like being back in high school, with endless time to waste outside of studying—no grand meaning, no purpose, just shooting the breeze. 

As adults, people often believe time should have value and purpose, trapping themselves in an endless cycle of busyness. Only in fleeting moments do they miss those carefree afternoons of youth, wasted without a care, filled with a ease and happiness that no amount of adult productivity can recapture. 

Precisely because they had no direction or purpose—not even knowing their next step—the TMZ paparazzi were completely lost. 

Word had spread, and they’d rushed to the scene, but Anson and Scarlett had vanished without a trace. 

The paparazzi cruised through the night, hoping for a lucky break, but their aimless wandering was pointless. Like the characters in La Dolce Vita drifting through Rome’s nightlife, they had nothing to show for it. 

At least the film gave us the iconic Trevi Fountain scene. These paparazzi? They just got headaches from the wind, only to hear Scarlett had already gone home. 

Alone. 

No sign of Anson. 

It was as if every paparazzo had struck out, chasing a whole night for nothing. 

Well, not entirely nothing— 

A migraine. 

That was the only mark left from their night of wandering. The rumors stayed just that—rumors. TMZ didn’t even snag a single photo. 

A potential scandal or gossip hadn’t even made a splash before vanishing without a trace. 

Worse still, where was Anson? 

Scarlett had gone home, but Anson was nowhere to be found, as if he’d evaporated into thin air. It made you wonder if the guy stirring up trouble at the restaurant was really Anson at all. 

Anson was Anson, after all. Just like always, he slipped away under the paparazzi’s noses without a sound. It wasn’t the first or second time. Shouldn’t Sony Columbia consider him for James Bond? 

(End of Chapter)