1446-1450

Chapter 1446: A Long Holiday 

Summer was creeping in, step by step, even in New York, where the heat was starting to sneak up. 

The sun peeked out from between the towering skyline, finally chasing away the harsh winter chill. After being cooped up for months, people couldn’t wait to burst outside, swapping coats for shorts and T-shirts, ready to soak up the freedom. 

The little islands around Manhattan turned into vacation hotspots. Every evening after work, you’d see hordes of people piling out like sardines escaping a can. 

Because of that, the city itself got a bit quieter. No one seemed to notice Anson and Annie slipping through—not even the paparazzi, who must’ve taken a vacation too. 

In the vast sprawl of New York, two young souls darted through streets and crowds, laughing, leaping, embracing the crisp warmth of early summer. For a fleeting moment, they escaped Hollywood’s glaring spotlight, stepping back into normal life, letting joy and happiness bloom freely. 

Anson and Annie caught an off-Broadway play—experimental, raw, and eye-opening. The actors weren’t polished, but their untamed energy was something else. 

In a way, that passion sparked something in the two “vases,” stirring their minds and igniting a little chemistry. 

Later, Anson took Annie to an art workshop in Brooklyn, where they tried their hand at painting. That’s when Annie discovered Anson could actually paint—way more talented than she’d ever imagined. 

Definitely not just a pretty face. 

No wonder he’d bought Michael’s painting back then—it wasn’t a fluke. 

Speaking of which, Anson had snagged Michael’s artwork to drum up buzz for Nora’s exhibition, unintentionally thrusting Michael into the spotlight. It gave him a small name in New York’s underground art scene. 

That workshop invite Anson gifted Michael? It was another nudge forward. Whether Michael seized the chance, though, was up to him. 

But word from Annie was that Michael just sold his second piece. 

Good news! 🎉 

Their dates were pure bliss, their tracks hidden in New York’s endless sea of people. 

They admired art under Brooklyn’s twilight, waited for sunrise at the Hudson River piers, shared reluctant kisses goodbye on Manhattan’s cool morning streets, dashed hand-in-hand through Central Park’s grass in a summer drizzle, and held each other tight on a ferry to the Statue of Liberty, gazing out at the horizon. 

But happiness? It’s always short-lived— 

Annie was deep in promo mode for Cinderella Story, her schedule packed to the brim. You could see Disney’s ambition loud and clear. 

If Anson remembered right, this was Bob Iger’s first big move as CEO, laying the groundwork for the Marvel Universe and Star Wars later on: 

The live-action princess project. 

This was where Bob’s subconscious idea took root—Disney shouldn’t be at the mercy of directors or actors. They needed a project the studio could control, keeping the talent in their grip. 

From there, they’d expand to merchandise and theme parks. 

Movies made money, sure, but even the biggest hits were just a slice of the entertainment pie. Hollywood’s top dogs relied on DVD rentals and sales post-theatrical run to rake in profits—building an empire on box office alone was a pipe dream. 

For Disney, the real goldmine was the merch and parks. 

Hard to believe, but the MCU, DCU, and the whole power shift in Hollywood all traced back to… The Princess Diaries? 

Okay, that’s a stretch, but no doubt it sparked something. 

Now, Bob Iger was testing the waters—and he was all in. 

Cinderella Story tied into The Princess Diaries 2, set for August, a back-to-back princess push to build a universe and stir the market. 

So, Annie’s promo train wasn’t slowing down—it’d chug along, off and on, through August. 

No breaks, no rest. 

Plus, the roles coming her way were all the same type—no breathing room, no time to think. No wonder she felt suffocated, lost, confused, swept into the fame storm before she could even enjoy the glitz. 

By Anson’s side, she caught a brief breather, but soon she’d be back on the promo grind. 

Still, her mindset had shifted. 

“It’s groundwork,” she told herself. 

“Going through these trials will make me stronger. Soon, I’ll get to pick the roles and scripts I want, maybe even produce something that fits me.” 

“Like you.” 

“So, I’ve gotta play along. If the movie’s a hit, it’ll give me some say.” 

After pumping herself up with a fist bump, Annie peeked out cautiously from their corner in the coffee shop. Seeing the calm vibe—no one noticing them—she let out a long breath, glancing back at Anson tucked in the nook. She waved him off, signaling he didn’t need to walk her out. 

“The car’s outside. I’ll hop in quick—no fuss, no attention.” 

With a grin and a New York Yankees cap pulled low, she headed out. 

Anson leaned forward, watching her weave through the coffee shop unnoticed. Outside, a black sedan’s door swung open, and she slipped in seamlessly. The car peeled off. 

Like water without a ripple. 

The air buzzed on, lively as ever—no one clocked what just happened. 

Anson settled back, pulling out his phone. He typed a quick text and hit send. 

Annie had barely caught her breath in the car, adjusting her cap, when her phone buzzed. She checked it, and a smile crept up. 

“Remember to breathe.” 

Staring at the screen, her heart danced on a wave’s crest. She glanced out at the streets—early summer New York buzzing with life—and let out a long, slow breath. 

Back at the shop, Anson set his phone down and picked up his book, sinking into the corner sofa. A coffee, a book, and a whole afternoon of nothing— 

When it came to chilling, he was serious. 

Even with album recording, he hadn’t set a deadline. He needed this long holiday to truly unwind. 

The coffee shop’s soft hum filled his ears, a white noise that somehow made the world quieter. Until— 

Crash! 

Someone bumped his table, nearly flipping it. “Oh, sorry! God, I’m so sorry!” 😅 

Chapter 1447: Staging a Chance Encounter 

Crash! 

Someone stumbled into the coffee table, and the whole world shook—coffee spilled, water flooded everywhere. It couldn’t have been worse. 

“Sorry! Oh God, sorry!”  

The culprit freaked out, fumbling in a panic. They plopped their stuff onto the sofa next to Anson, apologizing nonstop while scrambling for napkins to mop up the coffee spreading across the table. 

Lucky break: both cups on the table were nearly empty, so while it was a mess, the damage wasn’t that bad. 

Anson waved it off. “No worries, it’s fine.” 

He didn’t want a scene unless he had to—keeping it low-key was the goal. 

The clumsy stranger stared at the soggy table, looking guilty and bummed. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t paying attention—really, really sorry.” 

Anson flashed a small smile. “I mean it, I’m good.” He held up his book and showed off his pants— 

Not a scratch. 

The stranger let out a huge sigh, the weight lifting off their shoulders. “But your coffee… at least let me get you a new one.” 

Anson almost said no—he didn’t need another cup—but seeing their guilt and nerves, he grinned. “Alright, I’ll take it. A latte, thanks.” 

Phew. 

The stranger’s face relaxed big time. They hustled off, came back with the coffee, apologized again, then flopped into a seat across from Anson. Their shaky knees gave away how rattled they’d been. 

But before they could fully chill, they shot up again, grabbing their stuff from the sofa next to Anson. Clutching it tight, they collapsed back into their seat, looking totally drained—like that last move sucked out every ounce of energy. You didn’t need words to see their brain had checked out. 

Anson’s lips twitched up, but he didn’t say anything, diving back into his book. 

Then a gasp broke the quiet from across the way. “Anson… Anson…” 

The stammering gave him away. Anson looked up to see a face full of shock, eyes practically popping out, the whole body frozen like they’d been hit by lightning. 

Hard to ignore that. 

Anson chuckled. “Relax, I’m not Dracula.” 

The stranger shook their head stiffly. “You’re rarer than Dracula.” 

“Ha!” Anson laughed outright. 

They swallowed hard. “But how… so that was just…” 

A string of half-sentences loaded with meaning. Annie’s exit apparently wasn’t as sneaky as they’d thought, but Anson was ready for that— 

In New York, everyone’s too wrapped up in their own lives to notice much else. But that doesn’t mean they’re blind. A quick glance here and there can still pick up something. 

Like Anson and Annie. 

This wasn’t the smartphone era, though—no one’s snapping pics for proof. And it wasn’t the social media age either, where every whisper could blow up into a viral storm. 

So, no biggie. 

Caught? Fine, let them notice. Staying cool and casual was better than dodging and weaving—that’d just spark more rumors. 

Anson didn’t confirm or deny, just smiled at the stranger, letting their guesses swirl in the air. 

Realizing they’d stumbled onto something, the stranger clammed up, eyes darting. They snuck a couple peeks at Anson, then sat up straight, trying to play it off. But the obvious cover-up just screamed how flustered they were—hilarious to watch. 

Ahem. 

They cleared their throat. 

“Anson, I never thought I’d run into you here. God, this is… unreal.” 

“Jon Lucas. Screenwriter.” 

They stood, offering a cautious handshake. 

“About earlier—sorry again. I’m working on a script, head’s all over the place, didn’t see where I was going. Been a walking disaster all day. I’m starting to think leaving the house while brainstorming is a bad idea. Maybe I should just stay home.” 

Anson tilted his head slightly, his expression soft and his eyes warm, but he didn’t bite. 

Jon paused, catching on. “Oh, crap, I’m interrupting your alone time, aren’t I? Look at me, always missing the cues. I’ll leave you be.” 

“Hope I don’t end up on your ‘no collab’ blacklist, ha!” 

A little self-jab, then Jon shuffled back to his seat, sheepish. 

Barely sitting down, he took a deep breath, stood again, gripping his stuff tight. Mustering some guts, he turned to Anson. 

“Anson, really, really sorry to bug you again. I just… this script I’m working on—any chance you could take a look?” 

Anson’s eyes lifted from his book. 

Jon fidgeted, swallowing nervously. “I, uh, I’m knee-deep in this script. Tons of ideas, but no clue how to pull it together. Then I bump into you here out of nowhere.” 

“I heard about The Butterfly Effect. It’s no secret in Hollywood now—you gave those writers some pointers, helped shape the script. I thought maybe you could toss me a lifeline, get me out of this rut.” 

Anson raised an eyebrow. “Just looking for script feedback?” 

Jon nodded hard. 

Anson: “And if I like it, you wouldn’t want me to star in it?” 

Jon’s eyes lit up. “If you’re into it, that’d be amazing! But honestly, I’d just love some advice.” 

Anson studied him, humming thoughtfully. “Hmm… so you’re saying you didn’t plan this little run-in? Didn’t hope to bump into me, hand me your script? No pitch to star, no scheme to get me hooked and greenlight it?” 

Jon: “…No, no way! Total misunderstanding!” He laughed, flustered. “Ha, it’s all a coincidence, I swear!” 

Anson nodded lightly. “Got it.” 

Jon: That’s it? He’s buying it? 

Anson: “If I got it wrong, my bad.” 

“I just noticed—after you hit the table, you conveniently left your script on the sofa next to me. Even made sure it faced me so I’d see it. Then you kept the coffee excuse going, leaving it there, hoping I’d bite.” 

“And in your intro, ‘screenwriter’ was the big reveal. You steered everything to the script, watching my every reaction.” 

“So I figured you came for me on purpose.” 

“But if I’m off base, sorry for jumping the gun.” 

Chapter 1448: By Any Means Necessary 

Calm and breezy, yet every move deadly— 

Now, Jon was 100% certain: Anson wasn’t just a pretty face. 

Stereotypes really could get you killed. What was up with all those Hollywood rumors? If Anson was a dimwit, then there wasn’t a single smart person in Hollywood. 

Compared to Jon, who was frozen stiff in place, Anson seemed totally at ease. “Sorry about that,” he said with a casual shrug. “You know how it is—those damn Hollywood actors all think they’re the center of the universe, like the whole world revolves around them. I’m not immune to it either; I messed up.” 

“My friends keep saying my arrogance and ego are getting so big, New York can’t even hold them anymore. I’ve always denied it, but now? Yeah, I might need to take a hard look at myself.” 

Teasing, self-deprecating. 

He tossed it out effortlessly, with a witty charm that let Anson take control of the situation like it was nothing. Meanwhile, Jon was left hanging—neither moving forward nor stepping back. 

What now? 

The vibe was getting a little awkward. 

Jon’s mind was racing: What do I do? What do I do? Come on, Jon, think! Think fast! He couldn’t just stay quiet any longer; his smile was practically freezing on his face. He had to say something clever, but his brain was a total mess. What was going on? 

Anson glanced at Jon, then shifted slightly, peering past Jon’s arm toward the coffee shop window. “So, that guy who’s been poking his head around the door this whole time—he’s not your friend?” 

“Heh, I was just thinking he might be your backup plan—y’know, bursting in to ‘find’ you with some perfectly timed excuse about a script.” 

“But nah, looks like I’m overthinking it. I really need to take a break from Hollywood; my head’s stuffed with too many movie tropes.” 

Honestly, the guy’s hulking, clumsy frame wasn’t exactly hidden behind that potted plant. 

He looked like something straight out of Frankenstein’s lab—tall and burly, slow and awkward. His almost-yellow hair was patchy and malnourished, swaying in the breeze like scraggly seaweed. Deep-set features paired with pale skin made him look even weirder. 

And yet, there he was, shoulders hunched, crammed behind the plant, holding his breath. Passersby could probably write a thousand-word fanfic about “Frankenstein” just from the sight. 

Jon couldn’t help but turn to look at Anson’s words. His face froze, his brain completely short-circuiting. 

But then the figure seemed to catch Jon’s signal and pushed the door open, stepping inside. 

Jon’s expression shifted. He slid his right hand down by his thigh, using his body to block Anson’s view, waving frantically while mouthing, No, no, no, no, no!—complete with exaggerated eyebrow wiggles. 

The big guy was already lumbering over, flashing a grin and about to say hi when he finally noticed Jon’s hidden gestures. He swallowed his words mid-breath, pretending he didn’t know Jon at all, and kept walking. 

The acting? Stiff as a board. 

One second, he’d been giddy; the next, stone-faced. The transition made zero sense. 

Realizing something was off a beat too late, the guy threw in, “Oh, sorry, wrong person. Thought you were my friend.” 

Yeah, that sounded totally convincing—not. 

Jon glanced at Anson, his last shred of hope evaporating under Anson’s faint smile. He grabbed his buddy’s shoulder and let out a soft sigh. “Drop the act, Scott. He’s onto us.” 

Scott Moore still hadn’t caught up, glancing around. “Scott? Who’s Scott?” 

Jon stared at the trainwreck of a performance. “Scott, we’re busted. Anson’s seen through everything. No point in keeping up the charade.” 

Scott blinked, then gave an awkward grimace. “That bad, huh?” 

Jon nodded. 

Scott scratched his head. “I tried acting once, but everyone said I was awful, so I had to shelve that dream.” 

“But I’ve still got all these big ideas about Hollywood. I thought about it for ages—how do I get there, y’know, become part of that glitzy world? I don’t have the looks or the muscles, so all I’ve got left is a brain that’s not the sharpest but maybe kinda funny.” 

“Hey, writing scripts might be my ticket!” 

“Nice to meet you, Anson. Scott Moore, screenwriter.” 

His self-mocking spiel was honestly pretty charming—way better than his acting. 

Anson gave a little wave. “Hey, Scott.” 

Scott glanced at Jon, who looked like he’d given up on life, but Scott was unfazed. “So, Anson, got a sec to check out our script?” 

Sure enough, Anson had called it. 

In this world, how many “chance meetings” or “happy accidents” really happened? 

Luck was real, no doubt, and it could play a big role. But too much luck? It stopped feeling magical. The beauty of luck was its rarity. In reality, most things came down to careful planning and strategy. 

Hollywood was no exception. 

Anson’s lips curved up slightly. “Sorry, I’m pretty busy right now.” 

Scott grinned. “Nah, you’re not.” 

“We spotted you by chance last week—thought we were seeing things at first. But then we saw you here again with Annie, and we knew it was you. You’re on vacation.” 

“We’ve been staking this place out for four days straight.” 

“Sure, we can’t make you read our script. Hollywood’s crawling with people like us—I get why you’d say no. But come on, give us five minutes. Scratch that—three minutes. Just let us pitch our ideas.” 

A flicker of amusement danced in Anson’s eyes. “And if I say no?” 

Scott didn’t miss a beat. “We’ll try snapping some proof and sell it to TMZ.” 

Anson let out a light laugh. “Are you threatening me right now?” 

Scott nodded. “Yup. In Hollywood, you’ve gotta play a little dirty sometimes. We’re not kids here, right? Plan A was the ‘accidental’ run-in to pitch the script, but you clearly weren’t biting, so we’re on to Plan B.” 

“Scott!” Jon finally snapped out of it, grabbing Scott’s arm. 

“Sorry, Anson, Scott’s lost it. We’re not threatening you—we shouldn’t, and we won’t blab about this.” 

But Scott noticed Anson’s calm demeanor—it wasn’t what they’d expected. 

He perked up, intrigued. “You’re not mad? Even though we tried to threaten you?” 

Anson waved it off casually. “Nope, not at all. Like you said, welcome to Hollywood—anything goes when you’re chasing a goal. You can threaten me, sure. And I can cut a deal with TMZ to kill the photos, then drop a word to blacklist you both in Hollywood for good.” 

“See? Simple as that. You can’t touch me, but I could tank your careers without breaking a sweat.” 

“Besides, do I care if some pics leak? If I did, you think we’d be wandering around New York like clueless tourists?” 

Scott: … 

Jon: … 

Speechless. 

They’d been so sure of themselves, thinking they’d covered every angle. But in front of Anson, their plan was flimsy as paper. 

So, now what? 

Scott looked at Jon. They’d screwed up big time. 

Chapter 1449: Following in Their Footsteps 

Jon felt like they might have screwed up. 

Spotting Anson and Annie was a total fluke. They couldn’t believe their eyes—those two were just strolling through New York like it was no big deal. Weren’t they worried about getting mobbed by a crowd? 

But as it turned out, their boldness ended up being the perfect cover. 

At first, Jon and Scott just treated it like juicy gossip—a scandal spicy enough to send every Hollywood paparazzo into a frenzy. 

Thing is, they weren’t paparazzi. They were screenwriters. Digging up dirt wasn’t their game. 

But then, once they calmed down and thought it over, a light bulb went off— 

They were screenwriters, and the project they were working on might finally have a shot at breaking through. 

The legend of how two nobodies, McKee and Eric, managed to convince Anson to join The Butterfly Effect had already spread like wildfire through Hollywood. And now, Anson even had his own production company, Forest Films. Whether Anson played producer and pulled some strings or Forest Films took it on themselves, he was their golden ticket into the industry. 

And this was Anson. 

Anson Wood! 

The hottest name in Hollywood right now. Everyone was dying to work with him. Compared to other producers, Anson was like the North Star for writers and directors—he had the “golden touch.” 

Any project—literally any project—that caught Anson’s eye would transform into something extraordinary. Didn’t matter if it was nobodies like McKee and Eric, an artsy director like Gus Van Sant obsessed with the language of film, or a quirky genius like Charlie Kaufman lost in his own wild imagination. Anson could handle them all. 

Everyone wanted a piece of Anson. 

If they could get his attention? 

Just thinking about it sent their blood rushing to their heads, practically bursting with excitement. 

The problem was, how were they supposed to convince him? 

This was Anson, after all. You didn’t need to think too hard to realize he was drowning in offers from all over Hollywood. And Anson trusted his agent, Edgar, completely—which explained why half the town was kissing up to Edgar, hoping he’d open the door to Anson. 

Last summer, Mangold and Kitcher had gone rogue, tracking Anson down themselves and convincing him to join Walk the Line.  

On one hand, you had to hand it to the two Jameses for their guts. Casting Anson in a biopic was a do-or-die gamble—especially since the Johnny Cash project had been kicking around Hollywood for a decade. Their risk didn’t seem so crazy in that light. 

On the other hand, Edgar lost it. If everyone started bypassing agents and going straight to Anson like that, it’d mean agents weren’t doing their jobs. Edgar wasn’t worried about his paycheck—he’d still handle the final negotiations no matter what project Anson picked. What bugged him was Anson’s life. If all of Hollywood started hunting him down privately, the guy would never get a moment’s peace. 

That’s why producers and writers had started playing nice. No one wanted to piss off Edgar. 

But let’s be real—stuff like this never really stops in Hollywood. Skipping the agent, the manager, the assistant, the friends, and going straight to the director or actor for a heart-to-heart? That’s been the unspoken rule of success in this money-obsessed town forever. 

So Jon and Scott decided to take the leap, even if it meant risking Edgar’s wrath. The question was how. That’s where things got tricky. 

Good cop, bad cop! 

After hashing it out and weighing their options over and over, they came up with a plan they thought was foolproof. They’d stake out a coffee shop and wait for their chance. 

And then… 

They forgot the most basic, most critical thing: 

Anson wasn’t someone they could just mess with anymore. 

Threats? 

What seemed like a genius idea at the time now felt more like a death wish. 

What now? 

Jon froze. Scott froze. Faced with absolute power, they’d never felt so small and helpless. At that moment, they didn’t even feel scared—just… blank. 

They stared at each other, but neither could muster a response. 

Anson caught the whole scene, a faint smile flickering in his eyes— 

Still green, huh? You could tell these two hadn’t done much scheming before. Too innocent. A little intimidation, and the whole situation flipped. 

But… Jon Lucas? Scott Moore? 

Anson racked his brain, coming up empty. For the life of him, he couldn’t place these two or recall a single project tied to their names. 

Were they complete nobodies? 

With Eric and McKee, at least The Butterfly Effect rang a bell—even if that was the only highlight of their careers. But these two faces and names? Nothing. Not a spark. 

If you thought about it, that was probably the norm. 

In the grand Hollywood machine, beyond the 300 or so movies that hit screens each year, there were thousands of projects—ones that died early, stalled out, turned out mediocre, or never even registered. 

Among the hustle and bustle of the crowd, the talentless and average were the real backbone, the massive base of Hollywood’s pyramid. 

Edgar’s big job was filtering through the junk for Anson—sifting through piles of trash to find scripts worth reading, then picking projects that fit Anson’s next move. 

So what was this showing up in front of Anson now… a piece of garbage? 

How should Anson handle it? 

Shut it down? 

“You said three minutes? Well, you’ve got… sixty-five seconds left.” 

Anson glanced at the clock on the coffee shop wall, tossing out a random number. 

Jon blinked. What was that supposed to mean? 

Scott reacted a bit faster, stepping forward. He didn’t care if he bothered the other customers—he just kept his voice low and steady. 

Who’d have thought this hulking Frankenstein-looking guy would be the sharper one of the pair? 

“My best friend’s about to get married. Me and the guys are throwing him a huge bachelor party—partly as an excuse to dodge our own trainwreck lives for a night and catch a breather. We get plastered till dawn, drinking until we black out.” 

“The next morning, we wake up to a total disaster. There’s a chicken in the room, one of us is missing a tooth, there’s an $800 receipt in someone’s pocket, and—oh yeah—we can’t find the groom.” 

“We turn the place upside down, but he’s nowhere. Worse, we’ve all blacked out. Nobody remembers a thing from last night.” 

“Now the wedding’s coming up fast, and not only is the groom AWOL, but our buddy’s missing too. We’ve got no clue what to do.” 

“That’s it. Done. That’s the project we’re trying to pull off.” 

Chapter 1450: Sifting Through the Sands 

Back in 2009, a low-budget comedy called The Hangover became the year’s unexpected breakout hit. 

With just a $35 million investment, it raked in $470 million worldwide, turning into a box-office phenomenon. That success spawned The Hangover trilogy—hands down the most successful, brilliant, and unique comedy series since the turn of the millennium. 

But the box office was only part of the story. The movie completely changed the lives of two people. 

First up: Bradley Cooper. This guy had been slogging it out in Hollywood for a decade, stuck on the fringes, not even getting noticed as eye candy. The Hangover was his big break. It flipped his career upside down. Suddenly, he was an Oscar darling—five acting nods, one for directing, five for best picture—blossoming as an actor, director, and producer. Plus, he jumped into the Marvel universe, voicing Rocket Raccoon in Guardians of the Galaxy, and nailed it in the blockbuster game too. He planted himself firmly at the top of Hollywood’s pyramid. 

Crazy to think it all hinged on one R-rated movie hitting it big. 

Then there’s Todd Phillips. Before The Hangover, this director already had some solid wins under his belt—films like Old School and Borat that scored with critics and audiences alike. Borat even snagged him an Oscar nod for Best Original Screenplay. 

Still, he’d been boxed into comedy, unable to break free. Even after The Hangover, he was tied to Bradley for a while, and his career didn’t quite take that instant leap to the next level. 

But the movie’s massive success was like a golden ticket. It kept Todd in the game, ensuring he’d always have projects in Hollywood—no risk of being out of work. 

Fast forward to 2019, exactly a decade after The Hangover, and Todd finally reinvented himself with Joker—a critical and commercial smash. 

Talk about a glow-up. 

Of course, The Hangover’s impact went way beyond those two. The rest of the main cast got their own star turns, each landing leading roles. 

Oh, and let’s not forget Las Vegas. 

The movie could’ve been shot anywhere—even stayed in California—but Todd just loved Vegas, so that’s where it happened. For the next decade, the city became the go-to spot for bachelor parties across the U.S. Nobody could touch it. 

The producers even talked Caesars Palace—one of Vegas’s top five-star hotels—into letting them film there. That place had been in tons of Hollywood movies already; they didn’t need the exposure. But they had no idea this little agreement would turn into their most successful marketing move ever. 

Fifteen years later, people still check into Caesars Palace because of The Hangover, quoting iconic lines from the movie. The front desk staff, bellhops, and lobby managers have to know the script inside out to give guests the full experience. 

Success isn’t just about numbers. 

No exaggeration—The Hangover became a cultural juggernaut, its influence rippling out in every direction, far beyond ticket sales. 

So, the project sitting in front of Anson right now… is it The Hangover? 

From the pitch and the framework, it sure sounds like it—pretty much spot-on. But Anson’s still not totally convinced. 

Two reasons. 

First, it’s 2004 right now. In his old timeline, The Hangover didn’t hit until 2009—five whole years away. 

That’s not a dealbreaker, though. Projects like Walk the Line or The Butterfly Effect bounced around Hollywood for way longer than five years. Even without that kind of delay, going from concept to funding to production to theaters can easily eat up two or three years. 

What’s really throwing Anson off is the timing. 

A movie’s success often needs a sprinkle of luck—hitting the right moment in the right way to win over the market. 

Take Avatar. If it came out years earlier, before 3D tech was ready, it probably wouldn’t have smashed records. Or Spider-Man—without the post-9/11 slump, launching in the summer with the weight of reviving New York on its shoulders, it might’ve still done well, but that opening weekend breaking $100 million? Maybe not. 

Timing, location, and momentum—all three have to line up. 

The Hangover was a dark horse in 2009, but a few years early? No guarantee it’d pull off the same miracle. 

Second, Jon Lucas? Scott Moore? 

Those names still feel a little unfamiliar. 

Anson realizes he never paid much attention to who wrote The Hangover. He vaguely recalls Todd Phillips being involved in the script, but the writers—or writer team? Their careers didn’t exactly shine afterward. Just that one bright moment. 

Kind of like Eric and Mackye, in a way. But here’s the difference: sci-fi writers lean hard on big ideas and concepts—lose that spark, and they’re toast. Comedy writers, though? That’s more about raw talent, a knack for spotting humor in everyday life with sharp wit. 

Plus, The Hangover Parts 2 and 3 had different writing teams. Setting aside the disappointing quality of those sequels, what does that say? 

Here’s a theory: the script Jon and Scott brought might actually be The Hangover Anson knows, but it’s probably a far cry from the polished version in his memory. Maybe they’re like sci-fi writers—just tossing out a killer idea. 

The humor, the gags, the absurdity that made The Hangover what it was? That might not have much to do with them. In Hollywood’s cutthroat grind, they could be missing that extra edge. Maybe The Hangover’s success boiled down to one genius spark. 

It’s a shaky guess, though—just a fleeting thought flashing through Anson’s mind. 

Across from him, Scott’s oblivious to Anson’s whirlwind of thoughts. He barrels through his pitch, unloading everything he can think of in one rushed go. He doesn’t have time to overthink it—just dumps it all out. 

Then he glances at the clock on the coffee shop wall. Huh. Looks like he’s still got some time left. 

Scott pauses, then tacks on, “Even though it’s a raunchy comedy, trust me, the lead guy’s still got charisma. He shines in this thing.” 

Jon catches Scott’s look and nods eagerly. “Yeah, exactly! No need to play dumb or goof off. Even in a comedy, he’s got that charm—it’s not your typical slapstick.” 

Anson doesn’t doubt that for a second. 

If they’re really talking about that Hangover, Bradley Cooper turned into Hollywood’s newest heartthrob because of it—crowned the sexiest guy around.