Rodrigo looked at the composed Ryan in front of him—impeccably dressed, full of energy, and wearing a radiant smile—displaying an impeccable demeanor.
However, in Rodrigo's mind, he couldn't help but recall Renly's attire for today's audition. For an audition, Renly's outfit was undoubtedly impolite—shirt paired with jeans, appearing too casual. He looked like... a foreman of a construction crew. Yet, it was precisely this casual attire that successfully outlined the image of Paul Conroy. Obviously, Renly had come prepared.
"I thought you would call ahead, but I didn't expect you to come to New York in person," Rodrigo tidied up the jumbled thoughts in his mind. Ryan wasn't only his first choice; that decision was made as soon as he saw the "Buried" script. He had to pull himself together and seize this opportunity.
Ryan had regained his composure at this point, revealing a proper smile. "Because I couldn't sit around in Los Angeles waiting. I needed to meet you immediately, have a face-to-face conversation, and experience your vision firsthand. God, this script is truly a stroke of genius. I absolutely love it! So, I decided to give you a surprise. And then... ta-da!"
Admittedly, Rodrigo was somewhat taken aback. The eagerly positive enthusiasm from an actor he had longed for was a delight. Rodrigo was so happy that he didn't even know where to place his hands. "If you can like it, then nothing could be better. It's an absolute honor for me." Rodrigo wiped the sweat from his palms.
Ryan raised his head to survey the surroundings. The onlookers hadn't diminished; if anything, they seemed to have increased. Although everyone pretended to be busy with their own affairs and didn't rush over, their scattered gazes still continuously flickered over, and the buzzing noise remained in the background.
"I wonder if we could find a quieter place to have a more in-depth conversation. I'd like to understand more about this script, about the whole project. Through our exchange, I hope to gain further insights," Ryan redirected his gaze to Rodrigo, displaying a wide smile. "For both the script and the project, there are aspects I don't quite comprehend."
Rodrigo could sense the elevated position Ryan held. It wasn't intentional on Ryan's part, but the fact remained that Rodrigo had begged Ryan to take part in "Buried". Now, with Ryan, who was at the forefront of the second-tier actors, joining the project, he indeed had a certain level of superiority. Moreover, Ryan had bypassed his agent and come directly to New York, signifying Rodrigo's significance.
The logic was clear, yet Rodrigo couldn't help but think of Renly again. Renly didn't mind the noisy environment of the youth hostel; his performance remained undisturbed. Renly didn't misunderstand the script's intent; on the contrary, he provided his insights...
"This place is quiet enough. They're all friendly associates; they won't come to disturb us." Rodrigo's excited emotions gradually settled down. After the exhilaration of their first meeting, rationality was gradually returning.
Rodrigo knew that Ryan's appearance meant the likelihood of collaboration had surged, but it didn't guarantee success. Ryan still needed to gain further understanding. Conversely, he believed Ryan was the best choice for Paul's role, but that was merely his own imagination. He needed to further assess Ryan's actual capability.
Rodrigo was Spanish, and on American soil, he had no particular advantages. He wasn't a globally acclaimed master like Pedro Almodóvar; he was merely a budding newcomer. "Buried" was crucial for him—it was possibly the key to unlocking the doors of Hollywood. So, he wanted more than anyone for this project to meet the expected standards and succeed.
Taking the initiative, Rodrigo sat down. After a moment of hesitation, Ryan followed suit and sat in the spot Renly had been just a while ago. Scarlett patted Ryan's chest, whispering, "I won't disturb your audition. Take a breather outside, and we'll continue later."
During auditions, actors required absolute focus. This wasn't a social gathering with producers—it was a time for intense dedication. Thus, Scarlett opted to temporarily step aside, providing Ryan the space to freely express himself.
Ryan offered a smile and patted Scarlett's hand. In a hushed tone, he said, "Won't be long."
"Good luck." Scarlett rose to her feet, then directed a radiant smile toward Rodrigo. "Director, I won't interrupt your conversation between gentlemen. I hope everything progresses smoothly."
Rodrigo cautiously nodded. Although Ryan's "Won't be long" struck a sensitive nerve—what did that mean? Did it imply he wasn't being taken seriously? Or was the project not worth spending much time on? Or perhaps Ryan felt the matter was already settled? However, facing Scarlett's smile, Rodrigo managed to compose himself and smiled back, nodding to acknowledge her departure as he watched her graceful figure leave the lobby.
His gaze returned to Ryan, and he presented a modest, radiant smile. "Ryan, which part of the script left the most profound impression on you? If you don't mind, you can perform it directly for us to exchange insights in a professional manner." Rodrigo could feel a slight stiffness in Ryan's muscles, but his words flowed without pause. "I know this project is a stern test for actors, which is why you were my first thought. So, what are your thoughts on the script and the character?"
Ryan felt a momentary constriction. Shouldn't he be the one taking the initiative? Shouldn't he be the one controlling the rhythm? Why did it seem like... something was amiss?
As Scarlett left the hostel's lobby, she found herself in a small courtyard. The space was limited, even smaller than half a basketball court, but it held two plane trees. Their lush canopy almost covered the entire yard. Sparse sunlight filtered through the mottled leaves, casting shades of brown over the soil, where various plants grew. Along the walls, ivy spread in large patches, climbing upward. The scent of rain lingered beneath her nostrils, mingling with the refreshing moisture amid the expanse of green.
At first glance, Scarlett spotted the man named Renly, standing at the entrance. He resembled someone standing by a window, gazing at another world. The casual and untidy grid-pattern shirt enveloped his broad shoulders. The backlight revealed a side profile, calm as water, refined yet unstrained, bursting forth with a momentary brilliance.
"Need a lighter?" Scarlett's footsteps halted by the man's side, aligning herself at a similar angle to gaze outside. She attempted to capture the sight that had captivated the man's attention earlier—the undulating roads of Amsterdam stretched tranquilly in her line of sight.
His husky voice lacked the world-weariness of a smoker's throat, instead resembling a cat's paw—short, pointed nails lightly caressing the palm, carrying a trace of sensuality in its languor. She didn't need to turn her head to know it was Scarlett.
"Hmm?" Renly lifted the tail end of his words, seeming somewhat puzzled by Scarlett's opening statement.
Scarlett pursed her lips and rolled her eyes in response, a disdainful expression on her face. "You should know that many people only smoke cigarettes to smoke them. If you want to pretend to have a noble character, you could choose a pipe, or at least a cigar."
Renly lowered his head and glanced at the cigarette between his lips, chuckling silently. It was a habit from a past life.
He used to be a heavy smoker; his tightly regimented life left him almost no breathing space. During his university days, he'd go through a pack and a half a day. Even if he wanted to quit, he couldn't. Not to mention he didn't want to quit—under the weight of life's pressures, smoking was his sole way of unwinding. He didn't play games, wasn't into sports, and his alcohol tolerance wasn't great. Cigarettes were his only crutch. Without them, he wasn't sure how long he could hold on.
After the car accident, while he was hospitalized, not only were cigarettes prohibited, but he also couldn't physically smoke. Being coerced into quitting smoking involuntarily, compared to becoming paralyzed, the pain and torment of quitting seemed insignificant. In reality, quitting smoking was much easier than he'd imagined.
After his rebirth, he could smoke again, but he wasn't as attached. Not because he'd seen too many cases of lives wasted due to smoking in hospitals in his previous life, but because after experiencing death, nicotine had lost its significance.
Holding a cigarette felt more like a habit now—a habit of contemplation, of reminiscence, of body movements. It helped him focus and initiate thoughts. He always had a pack of cigarettes on him, but he hadn't lit one in a very long time.
"How do you know this isn't cannabis? I haven't lit it because I don't want the police officer at the street corner to eye me," Renly responded, not irritated at all. Instead, he chuckled softly, removing the cigarette from his lips and putting it back into the pack.
Scarlett's gaze fell on Renly's fingers—long and sturdy, akin to bamboo nodes. His simple movements were like pieces of art, capturing her attention. She scrutinized the cigarette closely. "So, is it cannabis?"
"Do you want a drag?" Renly didn't deny, but rather played along, using his right hand to grasp the pack and using his index finger to gently tap the corner, causing it to pivot slightly. "I thought you needed to stay alert today. You know, Ryan is auditioning, and you're his solid support."
"His career doesn't need..." Scarlett began to say, but the words didn't finish before she caught herself, displaying a teasing smile. "I thought you were competitors. Ryan's failure should be something you'd take pleasure in."
Renly shrugged and nodded with a smile, admitting Scarlett's words candidly, which caught Scarlett off guard, making her chuckle. "I won't argue because as a competitor, I indeed hold very few chips in my hand. It's not easy to turn the tables with this hand."
"A true poker master knows how to bluff," Scarlett's eyes flickered slightly as she spoke, her tone veiled with a playful quality.
Renly raised an eyebrow ever so slightly. "So, do you guess I'm bluffing now or holding a winning hand?"