An American Dream in the Making
In the Chinese theater earlier, Lawrence made a silent resolution: if Charlie Lee was serious, he would join him.
After all, anyone who could accurately predict a stock market crash and pocket hundreds of millions wasn't someone to be ignored. However, what Lawrence didn't know was that Charlie Lee wasn't a financial genius—he just had the foresight to recognize the massive future potential of Disney.
When those adorable, lively characters came to life, the world of entertainment would be forever transformed.
"What kind of show could be worth hundreds of millions of dollars?" Charlie asked, maintaining a neutral expression.
"Oh, come on!" Lawrence exclaimed, his eyes widening. "Are you seriously telling me that a little mouse is worth that much money?"
"Then feel free to walk away," Charlie replied, his tone indifferent.
"Leave? Are you kidding me? This is insane! Hundreds of millions!" Lawrence shook his head, trying to process everything.
"You'll see soon enough," Charlie said with a sly grin. "Trust me, Lawrence, you're going to love this."
Recovering quickly, Lawrence draped an arm around Charlie and said with a chuckle, "Alright, alright, I'm in. But seriously, don't push me away. Together, we'll be legends!"
Charlie laughed, shrugging him off. "You're impossible. Maybe I should stay away from you, though."
"No chance. We're in this together, Charlie," Lawrence said earnestly, his face suddenly serious.
When a man tells another man, "We're in this together," with a solemn face and an almost romantic sincerity, it's hard not to feel awkward.
"Get out of here, you lunatic," Charlie roared, his voice echoing through the street. People turned to stare as Lawrence laughed nervously and scurried after him.
"Charlie, I'm into women! Gorgeous, stunning women!" Lawrence protested as they walked into a bustling bar on the corner.
"Good to know, but keep your distance," Charlie retorted, tossing $200 into Lawrence's pocket. "Consider it interest."
"Vampire!" Lawrence shouted in mock indignation, but his laughter betrayed him.
Inside, the bar was alive with energy, the dance floor packed with twisting bodies.
"This is life," Charlie mused, taking in the scene.
He wasn't fond of the music—cheerful country tunes weren't exactly his style—but the energy of the place made up for it.
As he navigated the crowded room, his path was blocked by a large man, built like a bear, who was harassing a woman at the bar. Charlie hated men like this.
"Excuse me, you're in my way," Charlie said, tapping the man on the shoulder.
The man turned, his face red with anger. "Who do you think you are, you filthy—"
Before he could finish, Charlie grabbed a bottle from the bar and smashed it over the man's head.
The bar erupted into chaos. The man staggered back, roaring in pain, before lunging at Charlie with a clenched fist.
Charlie dodged easily, landing a swift kick to the man's chin. The crowd parted as the man crashed to the floor, unconscious.
"Let's go," a soft voice urged, tugging at Charlie's arm.
He turned to see a familiar face. "Ingrid?"
Under the streetlights, the woman who had pulled him outside smiled faintly.
"You remember me," she said, her tone tinged with both relief and irritation.
"Of course," Charlie replied, though he was surprised to see her. He had sent her off to Sweden months ago.
"A director invited me to audition," she explained. "I wanted to be a star."
"What about school?" he asked, recalling their earlier conversations about her dreams of attending the Royal Academy of Drama.
"I got in," she admitted, looking down. "But I couldn't shake the feeling that I needed to come back here."
Charlie didn't reply immediately, his mind racing. He had always admired her determination, but he hadn't expected her to return so soon.
"I should go," she said softly, turning away.
"Wait." Charlie reached for her hand. "Let's talk somewhere quieter."
Her eyes, brimming with sadness and hope, met his. For the first time in years, Charlie felt his carefully guarded heart begin to thaw.
He led her to a nearby hotel, his usual confidence replaced by a nervous energy.
From across the street, Lawrence spotted them. "Is that Charlie? And who's the knockout with him?" he muttered, incredulous.
His companion, a fledgling actress named Maggie, narrowed her eyes. "Are you saying I'm not beautiful?"
"No, no, of course not," Lawrence stammered, but Maggie wasn't buying it.
Back in the hotel suite, Charlie poured two drinks.
"Do you know what Hollywood's really like?" he asked, breaking the silence.
Ingrid hesitated. "I've heard it's… ruthless. People say it's a place where dreams come true, but also a place that destroys you."
"That's not far off," Charlie admitted. "It's a bloodless battlefield. Everyone pays a price."
"Then why are you here?" she asked, her gaze steady.
"Because someone has to rewrite the rules," he said simply.
They talked late into the night, their conversation weaving between dreams, fears, and shared memories.
And when the morning light filtered through the curtains, they both knew that the path ahead—though uncertain—would be worth it.