1662-1664

Chapter 1662: Beauty and the Breeze 

August in California was just a little too hot. The blazing, unrestrained sun ran wild across the cloudless sky, searing every corner of the city with its heat. 

But by dusk, when the evening sky slowly descended, the horizon lit up with a stunning orange glow. The waves of heat scattered like faint dust, and the sky at the edges burned like an oil painting ablaze. It felt as if the whole world was encased in a giant transparent jelly bubble—dry, glimmering, and surreal. 

Everything was vivid and dreamlike, relaxed and laid-back. Thoughts, breaths, and even the soul seemed to wander aimlessly, scattering across the breeze. But somehow, it didn’t seem to matter. 

Anson sat by the window, bathed in the warm glow of sunset. The fading light danced across his face, partially illuminating his composed and elegant profile, casting a lazy yet mysterious charm. 

He wasn’t hiding his whereabouts. He didn’t retreat into a private room. This was just another ordinary afternoon. After tea, he’d grown too lazy to go home and decided to stay for dinner. On the table were a half-completed sudoku puzzle, a couple of books, and an empty glass of soda. His long fingers gently flipped through the pages of his current read. 

Unsurprisingly, someone noticed him. 

His presence was naturally commanding—no need for flashy entrances. In Los Angeles, you could toss a brick and hit a cluster of actors or screenwriters. People were used to it. 

But this was Anson. The Anson. How could anyone ignore that? 

After a bit of hesitation, someone couldn’t hold it in any longer. Nervously and cautiously, they approached his table, breaking the quiet tension. 

They took the leap—and were utterly stunned by how friendly he was. Not only did Anson not mind the intrusion into his private time, but he also chatted warmly for a bit. 

Photos. Autographs. A handshake. Even a brief conversation. It was almost too perfect. 

“He told me to have a wonderful day. A wonderful day! Oh my God!” 

“He even said he hopes people go out to see The Princess Diaries 2! Can you believe it? Anson Wood looked straight into my eyes and thanked me for my support!” 

“Ahhhhhh!!” 

When Scarlett Johansson walked into the restaurant, this was the scene she saw: 

A woman basically exploded into her friend’s arms, bouncing with joy, words tumbling out like popcorn from a machine. She was gasping for air like her brain had just run out of oxygen. 

And it wasn’t just her—her friends were equally ecstatic, caught up in a frenzy of excitement. 

Scarlett tore her gaze away and looked at Anson—just in time to lock eyes with him. 

Anson raised his hand in greeting. 

Scarlett walked over and stopped beside the table. “You’re incredibly friendly. Not a trace of that big-celebrity attitude.” 

Anson gave a slight shrug. “Happiness is meant to be shared. One bit of joy could turn into…” He glanced at the group, counting. “Six portions.” 

“To me, it’s just a few words. No big deal.” 

Scarlett lifted her chin slightly. “But there’s only one Anson Wood. If everyone did that, you’d be too exhausted to live.” 

Anson smiled. “Like Leonardo, you mean?” 

Scarlett’s lips curved. “Exactly. He’s a symbol now—a sex icon, a fantasy. Sure, it looks glamorous on the surface, but to people, he’s just a vessel for their imagination. There's no 'self' left.” 

Anson pressed his lips together thoughtfully. “I guess that’s the dilemma. Everyone envies Leonardo DiCaprio, everyone wants to be him… except Leo himself, who’s probably trying to escape the very idea of being 'Leonardo DiCaprio.'” 

He paused. 

“Do you think he enjoys it too, in a twisted way? Tortured and pampered, surrounded by endless flocks of pretty girls throwing themselves at him, all while lamenting his fate?” 

Leo's girlfriends never make it past twenty-six. 

In 2004, that might’ve seemed like a fairytale. Two decades later, it was more of a running internet joke. 

Scarlett narrowed her eyes. “Are you talking about Leo… or yourself?” 

“Ha,” Anson chuckled. “Not me.” 

“After watching Titanic, everyone wants their own Jack. But after watching Spider-Man 2, everyone wants a selfie with their friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.” 

Scarlett finally broke into laughter. “Okay, wow. That sentence is doing a lot. I’m hearing a lot of messages buried in there.” 

Anson held a finger to his lips. “Shh. I may be trying to present a more authentic version of myself, but the truth is… not everyone can handle the full 100% real me.” 

Her laughter blossomed into a wide smile. 

Just then, a waiter passed by, and Scarlett turned to him. “A double whiskey, please. Thanks.” 

She turned back to see Anson blinking at her in surprise. 

Scarlett raised an eyebrow. “What? The sun’s down. Somewhere on Earth it’s already 9 p.m. Time to hand ourselves over to alcohol.” 

Anson chuckled softly. “No, I mean… maybe you should eat something first?” 

Scarlett smirked. “Salad? Dear Anson Wood, are you seriously just going to treat me to a salad?” 

Anson answered seriously, “A five-dollar salad? No problem. But a fifty-dollar one? Sorry, I just can’t justify that.” 

Scarlett burst out laughing. “Wait, are you telling me you still check prices on the menu?” 

Anson nodded. “Of course. I’m still living on an allowance. Especially after founding Forest Pictures… You wouldn’t believe it, but I’m actually poorer now than before.” 

Scarlett squinted, clearly not buying it. “So, is this meeting about work? Why didn’t you just go through my agent? You're a VIP at Creative Artists Agency—wave your hand and they’ll get anything done.” 

Anson replied, “If I went through your agent, it wouldn’t feel sincere. Forest Pictures is still a small company. Without me showing up in person, I doubt I could convince you.” 

Scarlett tilted her head. “Nah, CAA alone is convincing enough. They’re very persuasive.” 

Anson didn’t argue. He just looked at her. 

Scarlett understood the message. “Alright, I get it. If you had gone through the agency, I probably would be a little hurt. As a friend, you couldn’t even be bothered to talk to me yourself? Forget working together—it’d be awkward just seeing each other after that.” 

“So, what’s the project?” 

Anson grinned. “Does this mean we can talk about a friend discount?” 

Scarlett gasped in mock outrage. “Oh my God. That’s your real agenda? Anson, you’ve changed!” 

She looked perfectly scandalized, but Anson didn’t fall for it. 

“We’re talking about Scarlett Johansson here,” he said with a straight face. “The hottest indie darling in Hollywood. You've probably got hundreds of offers right now. We’ve got zero competitive advantage.” 

Scarlett waved him off. “Don’t you try to butter me up. I’m starting to feel like you’re about to sell me and make me help count the money.” 

Chapter 1663: A Sincere Invitation 

Anson widened his eyes at Scarlett, looking wounded. "Oh, I didn’t expect that in your eyes, I’m that kind of person?" 

Scarlett didn’t buy it for a second, mirroring his wide-eyed stare. "You’re only realizing this now? I thought you’d figured me out ages ago." 

Anson didn’t deny it. Instead, he seemed to genuinely ponder her words. "This won’t do. How am I supposed to keep playing the wolf in sheep’s clothing if you’re onto me? You’re ruining my game." 

His candid demeanor caught Scarlett off guard, and she couldn’t help but let out a soft chuckle. "Hey, are you enjoying this a bit too much?" 

Anson gave a light shrug. "This is Hollywood. The innocent lambs don’t even have bones left to pick. How else do you think I got to where I am?" 

Scarlett gestured toward the lively crowd cheering behind them. "Do they know?" 

Anson put a finger to his lips. "Shh. Don’t hurt the innocent. The truth always stings, and even if it doesn’t get to them, it’s bad for the flowers and grass." 

Scarlett tried to hold it in but failed, her shoulders shaking as muffled laughter escaped. She finally got herself under control and looked at Anson, who was perfectly calm, as if nothing had happened. The corners of her mouth still curved upward. 

"So, who’re you scheming against this time?" 

Anson grinned. "You." 

Scarlett froze. 

His eyes sparkled with amusement. "Relax, relax. This isn’t the Scarlett Jansen I know, getting spooked so easily." 

Scarlett rolled her eyes. "Where’s my whiskey?" 

Right on cue, a server arrived with her drink. Scarlett grabbed the whiskey from the tray and took a big gulp. 

Anson wasn’t in a rush. He noticed Scarlett’s restlessness but wasn’t surprised. This was Hollywood, after all—a place where storms brewed daily, where things were always happening in spaces he couldn’t see. Scarlett just needed a moment to breathe. 

Finally calming down, Scarlett met Anson’s steady gaze and took a deep breath. "Sorry, I just had a huge fight with a producer. Clearly, I haven’t fully cooled off, so I ended up unloading on you. And somehow, I made myself look like an idiot in the process." 

She chuckled at herself, amused. 

"So, what’s your grand plan to ‘scheme’ against me? I’m ready." 

Scarlett set her whiskey on the table and looked at Anson with confidence. 

Anson didn’t keep her in suspense. "A collaboration." 

Her eyes lit up slightly. 

He continued, "Two months ago, I discussed two projects with Warner Brothers. Now that I’ve wrapped up this phase of work, I finally have time to dive into production. We’re hoping to start shooting soon, but obviously, there’s still a lot of prep to do." 

"Like casting," he added. 

Scarlett gave a knowing nod. "So, we’re talking about those two projects?" 

Anson raised an eyebrow. "You’ve heard the rumors?" 

Scarlett smirked. "Of course. All of Hollywood’s heard. Anson Wood doesn’t give Sony Columbia the time of day and turns around to team up with Warner Brothers." 

She leaned in. "Even the top dogs in Hollywood’s pyramid have to chase after Anson. And in the end, Anson Wood comes out on top, leaving Sony Columbia with no choice but to bow down." 

Anson’s smile was tinged with helplessness. "Easy, easy. So I’m Hollywood’s public enemy number one now? Thanks for the heads-up." 

Scarlett raised her whiskey glass. "No problem. Just doing my duty as a friend." 

Anson let out a light laugh and raised his hand to signal the server. "Another whiskey, double. And throw in some snacks while you’re at it." 

Scarlett caught on immediately, teasing, "Pretty slick bribery. Thanks." 

Anson accepted the “compliment” without missing a beat, then got serious. "I’ve always wanted to work with you, but not just for the sake of it, like checking off a box. I want it to be the right project—one where we can both bring something unique to our roles." 

"This is that opportunity." 

"One of the projects is a comedy, The Hangover. It’s about a group of friends who go to Vegas for a bachelor party. They get blackout drunk, and the next morning, the groom’s gone. Nobody remembers what happened the night before." 

Scarlett, holding her whiskey, raised an eyebrow. "Completely blacked out?" 

Anson nodded. "Completely." 

She burst out laughing. 

He continued, "It’s a raunchy comedy, meant to break stereotypes." 

Scarlett tilted her head. "I thought you were trying to change your image, move away from being the pretty face?" 

Anson spread his hands. "Fight fire with fire. Use the pretty face to poke fun at the pretty face." 

"Picture this: I keep telling audiences, ‘Hey, I’m more than just a face,’ but they’re stuck on their biases. So, in the movie, I lean into the stereotype 100% at first. The audience thinks, ‘Yup, no surprises here.’ Then, as the story unfolds, we flip those biases bit by bit, using the film to challenge their assumptions." 

Scarlett grinned. "So, basically, let their guard down and then hit ‘em with a solid punch?" 

Anson chuckled. "Exactly. We’re actors. We let our work do the talking, right?" 

Scarlett studied him, her expression serious. "Why is it that when you say stuff like that, it feels like you’re up to something?" 

Anson didn’t flinch. "Sony Columbia victim syndrome?" 

Scarlett burst out laughing, spraying whiskey across the table. She scrambled for napkins, wiping frantically. "Oh God, my image is ruined." 

"But you," she said, still laughing, "you don’t seem to care one bit." 

Anson was unfazed. "Caring or not, I can’t change what people think. Might as well own it." 

Anson’s success in outmaneuvering Sony Columbia, shaking up the powers that be and navigating Hollywood’s top-tier games unscathed, had put the industry on notice. The way people looked at him was starting to shift. 

Scarlett wiped her mouth. "So, what about me?" 

Anson leaned in. "Same deal. A role that plays up your charm to the max. The story centers on three guys, but there’s a string of female characters. You can pick whichever one catches your eye." 

"But my suggestion? Go for the glamorous role." 

Scarlett was sharp—she got it instantly. A glamorous role, one that fully showcased her appeal, but in a comedy, where it could be played for laughs to subvert stereotypes. 

Both Scarlett and Anson carried their own labels and expectations. If they wanted to keep climbing in Hollywood and break new ground, they needed to push past those. The Hangover was their shot. 

Just like Anson was using comedy to flip biases, Scarlett could do the same. It was exactly what she’d been wrestling with lately. 

Anson’s offer was a lifeline. 

Chapter 1664: A Timely Rescue 

After the explosive success of Lost in Tokyo and Girl with a Pearl Earring, Scarlett’s career was swept into the whirlwind of fame. She found herself navigating a turbulent, chaotic landscape, struggling to find her footing, discover her voice, and become the actor she wanted to be. 

But clearly, it wasn’t easy—downright daunting, even. 

In Hollywood, the real breeding ground for stereotypes isn’t the general public but the industry’s producers. 

The reason is simple: it’s all about profit, not personal grudges. Producers stick to formulas, churning out assembly-line projects, endlessly copying and pasting proven success recipes to mass-produce hits. 

Everything else—art, creativity, directors, writers, the essence of filmmaking—gets pushed aside. 

So, when an actor succeeds in a breakout role, a flood of eerily similar roles comes knocking. Producers’ stereotypes are far worse than the public’s. They refuse to take risks, never offering actors diverse roles to explore. 

The clearest, most direct example is Liam Neeson. 

After rising to fame with Schindler’s List, Neeson earned multiple Oscar nominations and starred in the Star Wars prequels. Though never a top-tier superstar, he carved out a solid place in Hollywood. 

In 2008, late in his career, Neeson starred in a low-budget action flick, Taken. The film unexpectedly exploded, earning critical and box-office success, sparking a second act for Neeson’s career. But it also locked him into a single image: the lone hero saving his child or family. 

From then on, films like Non-Stop, The Commuter, Cold Pursuit, The Marksman, Ice Road, The Protege, and Blacklight all centered on Neeson, practically creating a “rescue universe.” 

Sure, with his industry connections and status, Neeson got some varied offers, but there’s no doubt producers were trapped in their stereotypes, mindlessly replicating the same formula, boxing in his career. 

Up to the point Anson’s knowledge ends, this trap never changed. 

Tom Cruise’s later career followed a similar path. 

If even these seasoned actors couldn’t escape, younger actors like Scarlett were no exception. 

Scarlett was no different. 

In Lost in Tokyo, she played a young woman adrift in a foreign land, lost in loneliness and isolation due to a language barrier. Loneliness, sensitivity, and vulnerability were the keywords. Yet, she was also a symbol of desire, reflecting Bill Murray’s character’s gaze on age, aging, and longing. 

The film’s massive success thrust her into the spotlight but also reduced her to a label, a symbol. 

Now, when people talked about her, it was as if she were a soulless Barbie doll, stripped of her own colors and edges by predictable biases and stereotypes. No matter what she said or did, it became fodder for gossip and speculation. 

Producers were no different. 

Because of this, Scarlett’s career had broken through, but she was trapped in that symbol, stumbling without finding her way out. 

That afternoon, Scarlett had a heated argument with her agent. The projects on offer were wildly varied in style, genre, and tone, but the roles she was offered were monotonously similar—cut from the same cloth. 

To put it bluntly, it was like shoving the same Barbie doll into different movie projects. 

It drove Scarlett nearly mad. 

Worse still, producers had already formed their stereotypes, so the offers landing on her agent’s desk were all eerily alike. That was Hollywood’s cruelest, coldest reality: producers wanted Scarlett to conform to this image to meet market demands. 

In her frustration and gloom, Anson was like a ray of sunlight piercing the water’s surface. Scarlett grabbed hold of that light, broke free from her struggles, and finally breathed fresh air. 

It wasn’t because Anson had faced similar struggles and broken free, but because, as a producer, he dared to take risks, to experiment, and to play within the boundaries of stereotypes. This sparked inspiration in Scarlett. 

She realized she might need to view stereotypes from a different angle. 

Some actors get trapped in their labels, endlessly repeating themselves—Adam Sandler, Matthew McConaughey, Lindsay Lohan, and others fall into this category. 

Some boldly break free from those frameworks, showcasing entirely new sides of themselves—Daniel Day-Lewis, Jack Nicholson, Robert De Niro, and the like. 

Others work within their stereotypes, finding new possibilities in familiar roles, delivering fresh surprises—Marilyn Monroe, James Stewart, Jack Lemmon, and others created countless miracles in their domains. 

Labels. Symbols. 

They can be a curse, but they can also be a gift. 

Scarlett gazed quietly at Anson. The heaviness in her chest, which even whiskey couldn’t ease, began to dissipate. 

A timely rescue, hitting just the right spot— 

A faint smile curved Scarlett’s lips. She strongly suspected Anson understood her struggles and frustrations, perhaps even intentionally extended this olive branch. 

After all, Anson had faced similar troubles himself. 

Yet, being seen through didn’t frustrate her; instead, it brought relief. The whiskey slid down smoother now. 

But Scarlett didn’t follow Anson’s train of thought. After a brief pause, she said, “What about the other project?” 

Anson noticed her sidestepping but didn’t mind. A glint of amusement flickered in his eyes as he continued casually. 

“Alfonso Cuarón, the director of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. It’s his project, an adaptation with strong literary roots. He doesn’t plan to lose that literary quality but wants to translate it into cinematic language, turning literature into visuals.” 

“The story is set in the near future, where humanity has lost the ability to reproduce. No newborns have appeared worldwide for a long, long time. The world is in chaos, borders between nations are under severe strain, and even the few remaining developed countries are teetering on collapse.” 

“In this moment, in London, an undocumented immigrant becomes pregnant.” 

In a few words, Scarlett tried to picture the story in her mind but failed—it could unfold in so many ways. 

She looked at Anson. “So, where’s the story headed?” 

Anson replied, “Exodus.” 

Scarlett’s mouth fell slightly open. Though she made no sound, her expression clearly showed shock. 

After a brief pause, she zeroed in on the key point. “I can’t see where I fit in this story.” 

(End of Chapter)