George knew he had a bad temper, but when facing Renly, he felt that his temper was especially bad. His blood pressure was challenging its limits at every moment. "You don't even record the songs you create, how are you going to make an album? How are we supposed to enter the recording studio like this? This is just laziness! Utter laziness!"
Watching George jumping in agitation, Renly's calm demeanor formed a striking contrast, as if George were the impulsive young lad in his twenties, while Renly was the elderly man entering his twilight years. It was oddly amusing.
"My excuse is: just three minutes ago, I hadn't decided to make an album yet." Renly answered with an innocent expression.
George glared at Renly, "You!" He only managed to utter a single word before his anger rendered him speechless. His words came to a halt, leaving him staring wide-eyed at Renly in anger. His emotions got stuck at this point—neither rising nor subsiding—causing him considerable discomfort.
There was a time when he, too, was an uncompromising top producer. Those big-name singers all behaved obediently in front of him, never daring to talk back. But now, a twenty-one-year-old young man was rendering him speechless and forcing him to retreat. Time, in its own way, was reminding him that rather than regret, it's better to seize every moment from now on and avoid continuing with regrets.
George knew he would regret it if he missed Renly.
However, there was no way out of this. How could he salvage the situation? He couldn't just sit down, that would be too embarrassing!
Just then, Neil walked over and placed a glass of lemon water in front of George. The irritation George felt was still not dissipating. His eyebrows furrowed, he scolded without reservation, "What kind of garbage is this!"
Neil didn't say anything, he just smiled and looked at Renly, while George turned his head, sending a laser-like glare of inquiry at Renly. Renly shrugged, "I'm just worried that you might explode if you continue like this. I think, until the album recording is finished, we should try to avoid such situations as much as possible. What do you think?"
His tone was nonchalant, but the mockery was sharp, leaving George momentarily speechless. In his younger days, he might have thrown that glass of lemon water at Renly. But he wasn't young anymore.
After this interruption, George's emotions gradually calmed down. He decided to follow this momentum, and sitting down accordingly. The redness that had crept up his cheeks showed no sign of subsiding, but the congestion in his head seemed to ease.
He pushed the glass of lemon water back, "This is for sissies to drink. I'm not interested." Then he lifted his whiskey glass, hesitated for a moment, and put it back on the bar counter. He ultimately didn't order a second glass.
Neil approached again after attending to other customers, expertly opened four bottles of beer with a bottle opener, and placed them on the counter one by one. Then, he nodded towards Renly, sitting nearby, "Booth number seven."
Without saying much, Renly put down the empty beer glass and adeptly picked up the four beer bottles, heading towards booth number seven.
Watching Renly's departing figure, George's eyes widened. Why did he seem like such a thorn in the side just a moment ago, yet now he was so easy to talk to? Renly had clearly risen as a budding acting star, even receiving an Oscar nomination. Now he was acting as a waiter in a bar?
His eyes were full of astonishment, a heavy mood with no outlet. All he could do was glare at Neil and say angrily, "What are you looking at? Get me a beer, that smoky one." He unleashed all his anger on Neil.
Neil shrugged innocently and turned his head to pour the beer.
"Welcome to Village Vanguard. Your beers. Is there anything I can help you with?" Familiar with the routine, Renly returned to his role as a bartender with a smile.
Inside the booth sat three individuals: a disheveled old scholar, an elderly artist with Einstein's hairstyle, and a scruffy old vagabond with a beard. The old scholar sitting in the center was talking animatedly, while the other two were listening intently, creating a scene that exuded an inexplicable sense of amusement.
However, Renly wasn't surprised. He placed a bottle of beer in front of each person and left one in the center, "Do you need menus or drink lists? Dinner is still some time away. We only offer some simple snacks here, but if you'd like, we can warm up a pie for you."
All three of them looked up simultaneously, and the old scholar stopped speaking.
The elderly artist sitting on the right seriously observed Renly and smiled, "Why don't you sit down and share this bottle of beer with us?"
What... What is this situation? This was something Renly hadn't anticipated.
Renly furrowed his brows slightly, his face carrying a polite smile. He playfully teased, "If this is your method of striking up a conversation, it's quite outdated. It might have worked decades ago. After all, it's not the era of Prohibition anymore."
This sarcastic and retaliatory response clearly showed Renly's stance.
In fact, if it weren't for the fact that the old scholar in the center was none other than the famous Woody Allen, and Renly knew that Woody had a good relationship with Stanley, he even introduced him once before—then Renly's words wouldn't have been so mild.
Woody's expression remained unchanged, and he still had that appearance as if he hadn't woken up yet, "Young people nowadays are always too impulsive. They hear a single sentence and start speculating recklessly, without even considering whether the other person means well or ill. Everything is related to themselves, everything is linked to discrimination. It's as if they're like Don Quixote, itching to raise their lance and show off their brawn."
His verbose speech seemed ordinary, but his mockery and derision leaked out inadvertently, true to Woody's style.
Renly didn't get angry. He simply pursed his lips and then curved them upwards into a subtle arc, "People are forgetful, aren't they? They often forget that they were once young."
Different from Woody's lengthy discourse, Renly retorted with just a brief sentence, clearly causing a suppressed smile to appear on the elderly artist's face. The scruffy old vagabond lifted his eyes briefly, his gaze oscillating between Renly and Woody, before lowering his gaze again.
Woody himself had no special expression. His thick eyebrows, akin to Crayon Shin-chan's, lifted slightly, and he didn't say anything more.
The elderly artist watched Renly with keen interest, "So, is this the young lad you were talking about? He doesn't seem like it at all."
Woody raised his shoulders in a non-committal shrug, his face still wearing an expression of disdain as if he couldn't be bothered. The elderly artist was undeterred. He exchanged a glance with the old vagabond across from him, "What do you think? Why do I feel that reality is far from what I imagined?"
The old vagabond's gaze landed on Renly, appraising him as if he were goods displayed in a shop window. Hidden behind his scruffy beard, his expression remained inscrutable and unreadable.
Having been ignored by Woody and receiving no response from the old vagabond, the elderly artist was unperturbed. He didn't even mind Renly's puzzled expression. He continued his monologue, "He does look incredibly young, certainly below twenty-five. If you were to tell me he's twenty, I'd believe it. And I'm certain his upbringing must have been quite decent. It's an intriguing thing, isn't it? Do you think it would be too intrusive if I were to ask him about his relationship with his parents directly?"
Renly was now full of question marks. This entire situation seemed enigmatic from beginning to end. Were they targeting him intentionally, or had he inadvertently stumbled upon a hornet's nest?
"I thought I wouldn't see him today. Didn't you say he's not working here anymore?" The elderly artist continued his enigmatic conversation, "Did you give him a heads-up? So, he came over specially? Can we have a deep conversation now? Though, I feel he doesn't quite meet the requirements appearance-wise. Is it even necessary to talk to him? What do you think?"
The final sentence was directed at the old vagabond.
Renly had a vague feeling that the "he" in their conversation referred to himself. But he was standing right there, and their open scrutiny and discussion felt exceedingly impolite. It felt uncomfortable, even dreadful.
"So, is it the drink menu or the food menu?" Renly bypassed the lengthy discourse that had just taken place and inquired with a smile. For nobility, filtering out irrelevant words was a basic skill. Distancing, distancing, and more distancing.
The gentlemanly politeness subtly drew a boundary and constructed a transparent wall that widened the psychological distance between them. Unseeable, untouchable, and even inexplicable, yet undeniably real.
The elderly artist tilted his head, his gaze now filled with even more curiosity, observing Renly again, with a hint of a smile.
Woody remained unchanged in his demeanor and intervened in a flat tone, "If you want to sit down, do it now. If you intend to leave, don't just stand there pretending. Those pretentious tricks, appearing so self-righteous, are truly amateurish. The tasteless methods from Hollywood should stay there; don't bring them to New York. They're unwelcome here."
The little old man's words didn't have many ripples, yet their mockery and coldness remained intact.
Unexpectedly, Renly didn't retort. He simply nodded politely at the other two, "If you need menus, just raise your hand." Then, without any hesitation, Renly turned around and left. He didn't show any signs of frustration or anger.
What was even more surprising was that Renly appeared unaffected, as if Woody's words hadn't affected him at all. His calm departure, the smiling profile of his face, even his footsteps didn't show any particular change.
The elderly artist, on the other hand, broke into a radiant smile, "This young fellow is rather intriguing."