*Screech!*
The taxi's tires screeched as it came to a stop, and Anson quickly got in.
"Burbank, Disney Studios."
"Hurry, please. As fast as you can."
After saying that, Anson patted the back of the driver's seat, signaling the driver to go ahead.
The driver, a middle-aged man with a beer belly and a friendly Adam Sandler-like smile, didn't start immediately. Instead, he glanced at the rearview mirror.
"Audition?"
Anson was a bit surprised. He looked down at his outfit, not expecting the driver to guess correctly. He smiled, neither confirming nor denying, "We need to speed up. Opportunities don't wait for anyone."
The driver understood—
In any case, he was convinced that Anson was heading to an audition.
Living in Los Angeles, everyone should know that the City of Angels is full of opportunities, but the competition is equally fierce. No one is irreplaceable. A moment's hesitation, and the opportunity could slip into someone else's hands. The goddess of fortune doesn't favor anyone in particular; everything needs to be fought for and seized.
The driver flashed a broad, kind smile, "You'd better fasten your seatbelt."
Anson blinked, didn't ask why, and obediently fastened his seatbelt.
Then—
The driver floored the accelerator, and the taxi shot forward like an arrow. Suddenly, Anson's back was slammed hard against the seat.
Of course, Anson could have chosen to go home, take a shower, freshen up, change clothes, and then head to the audition; but he didn't.
The urgency of the situation was the key reason.
Moreover, Anson believed that showing his true self was an important part of the audition. Some say that auditions are like dating; you always want to present your best side to the other person. But whether it's an audition or a date, being genuine is the key to finding the perfect match. Having the courage to show who you truly are is also a form of charm.
*Bang!*
The taxi came to a sudden stop at the curb, and Anson almost flew out of his seat, only to be yanked back by the seatbelt.
The driver revealed a grin with crooked teeth, "We're here."
Anson only had time to say a quick thank you. After paying the fare—plus a twenty-dollar tip—he grabbed his skateboard and got out of the car. It took him a moment to realize that his insides were still churning, his legs felt like they were walking on clouds, and his knees trembled slightly.
Could that driver be the real-life version of "Taxi Driver"?
As Anson turned around, he saw the driver leaning out of the window with a big, bright smile, "Good luck!"
Without waiting for Anson's response, the driver released the handbrake and sped off again.
Anson gathered himself, took a deep breath, adjusted slightly, dropped his skateboard, and glided through the studio lot.
Although this was Disney, right next to Warner Bros. Studios, the street scenes and environment weren't all that different. Everything seemed familiar, as if he were back at the "Friends" audition—just as foggy, just as rushed, and just as full of uncertainty.
The difference was that, at least this time, he knew what he was doing.
But others might not be so sure—
The secretary, or maybe she was an assistant, had glanced at Anson for the fifth time, her gaze still lingering, clearly unable to believe her eyes. Her stare repeatedly fell on Anson's skateboard, her confusion and shock barely hidden, almost as if she was about to ask, "Do you know what you're doing?"
Anson remained calm.
And then, the sixth glance.
**This time, Anson deliberately tilted his head and widened his eyes, actively meeting the secretary's gaze. She was caught off guard and their eyes locked.**
"Gah!" She gasped, startled.
Anson's lips curled into a slight smile, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. "Don't worry, I'm not the Big Bad Wolf."
His teasing remark lightened the atmosphere, and the secretary completely forgot about the skateboard as she led Anson to the office door.
But just as the secretary was about to knock, the door unexpectedly opened on its own. A sudden gust of air rushed out like a vortex, causing the secretary to jump back a little in surprise.
"Keren..."
Marcia had just begun to call out, but then she froze, noticing the two figures before her. Her words caught in her throat as she observed the young man standing slightly ahead, his right hand protectively shielding the secretary behind him, his bright, clear eyes meeting hers.
A refreshing breeze, carrying the essence of dawn and fresh greenery, seemed to sweep over her.
Marcia's eyes lit up instantly; words were unnecessary.
"Ms. Marcia Ross? Good afternoon, I'm Wood, Anson Wood."
His voice was gentle and clear, like a spring breeze.
Marcia didn't have time to think much. She stepped aside, "We've been waiting for you."
Anson smiled and nodded, making no attempt to explain why he was "late." He walked into the office and immediately noticed Gary Marshall.
Gary sat at his desk, which was cluttered with photos and resumes, most of which were Polaroid pictures. They weren't the carefully curated headshots actors usually submit, but grainy Polaroids. At a glance, it was impossible to tell how many there were.
Gary, like a historian studying ancient artifacts, was peering through reading glasses and a magnifying glass, carefully examining each detail. The way his eyes squinted and the wrinkles deepened on his face showed just how focused he was.
"Gary..."
Marcia called out from behind.
Gary didn't react, still absorbed in the Polaroid he was studying.
Marcia quickly stepped in and motioned for Anson to sit across from the desk. But then she noticed how sweaty Anson was, her expression hesitant. Unintentionally, she showed a bit of confusion, as if about to scold him, but ultimately held back.
Marcia didn't like it when people were all sweaty. That initial good impression from their first encounter was now counterbalanced by this, making her opinion of him waver.
Finally, Gary looked up and noticed Anson.
He was wearing a mint green hoodie with denim shorts, white socks, and dark green skate shoes, holding a skateboard in his right hand. His whole body seemed to radiate heat, with his cheeks flushed and his short hair wild and windblown. Although his face was no longer sweaty, the damp spots on his clothes reminded everyone that this young man had just finished exercising.
Youthful. Energetic. A kind of handsomeness bursting with hormones.
He didn't seem nervous or anxious, as if he had no idea what kind of meeting this was.
No awkwardness, no discomfort—completely unconcerned about his casual attire.
The aura that emanated from him immediately drew attention.
With just one look, Gary realized—
He's the one.
So clear, so definite, so certain—a burst of inspiration flooded his mind.
Casting a role sometimes works like this: one glance, and you know it's right. An overwhelming, undeniable feeling takes over your brain.
When James Cameron was casting "Titanic," 20th Century Fox wanted Matthew McConaughey for the lead role. But James immediately set his sights on Leonardo DiCaprio and fought for him. In the end, Fox granted James his wish.
And history proved James was right.
Now, Gary had the same instinct that James had when he saw Leonardo.
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