Brad's eyes were a bit panicked. He tried to avoid looking, but then worried that it would make him look guilty, so he turned back to Anson and forced a smile.
"Ha."
"Haha. Has anyone ever told you that you could be a great screenwriter, Anson?"
"Do you think I have that much inner turmoil when I'm alone outside? Did I just perform a one-man show? This isn't some Shakespearean drama, okay?"
"No, actually, the fact that my friend thinks I'm that kind of person is really sad."
"God, what has Hollywood turned you into, Anson? You should take a good look in the mirror."
The best defense is a good offense.
Brad turned the tables, his face full of sadness. His cheeks, flushed from alcohol, became more animated as he looked Anson up and down in disbelief.
Anson thought he was mature enough and calm enough to face all this. Even when confronting Brad directly, he hadn't lost his composure. But now, looking at Brad's performance, a rush of anger broke through and started burning in his chest.
"It's precisely because I realized that my friend, after all his inner struggles, still chose to hurt others that it really makes me sad."
"If it were last year—no, to be precise, even just a few months ago, before Hayden suddenly disappeared, I wouldn't have thought like this."
"But now, yes, I've become darker."
"Hey, welcome to Hollywood, right?"
"So, tell me I'm wrong. Tell me that the one with too much inner drama is actually me. Tell me I'm the one who's lost his mind in the pursuit of fame. Please, I beg you, tell me I'm an asshole for doubting my friend, that even thinking like this is wrong."
"Come on, tell me."
Anson truly hoped things could be simpler. The dirt and ugliness he'd seen in his past life, he didn't want to witness again.
He looked at Brad, so candid and straightforward, quietly waiting.
Brad's words caught in his throat, his eyes flickering with struggle. He could clearly see the hope in Anson's eyes gradually dimming.
"No, it's not like that," Brad blurted out hastily. "Everything I said is true. I really don't know anything about the rumors in Century City."
Anson gave a bitter smile. "Who's the producer?"
Brad was stunned. "What?"
Anson continued, "The producer who wanted to talk to you about a project, the one you were just about to meet at the Hilton Hotel before you left—who is he? He must have a name, right?"
Brad froze completely. "Uh, what?"
Anson didn't say another word. He just stood there with a smile, looking at Brad.
A single look, a single gesture, and he had cornered Brad.
Brad tried to explain, "No... I... wait..."
But the words wouldn't come out.
Finally, his frustration turned into anger, and Brad raised his voice. "No, I'm not going to tell you his name. I'm not going to let you call him and ruin my audition opportunity."
"Haha." Anson gave a cold laugh, shrugging lightly. "Why would I ruin your audition opportunity? Why do you think I want to ruin your audition opportunity? Have you forgotten? I was the one who encouraged you to go for the role in 'Digital Murder.'"
Brad: ...
Brad was stunned, standing there rigidly. It was clear to see the sweat slowly dripping from his forehead, his eyes not even blinking.
The answer was becoming increasingly obvious.
"Damn it." Anson couldn't help but curse. Even though he had uncovered the secret hidden in the shadows of the spotlight himself, he still couldn't control his anger now that it was confirmed.
"Damn it!"
In a rare moment, Anson cursed again.
"Brad, why couldn't you just be happy for us? You know how long James and I have been waiting for this opportunity. But you couldn't do it. You..."
"You didn't want to come to the Critics' Party because you were worried that James and I might actually succeed."
Brad finally regained his composure. "No, no, no, that's a lie. You're lying. I want you to succeed. I genuinely want James to succeed. When you were auditioning for these big commercial movies, I was rooting for you. I even helped you practice your lines. I've always supported you..."
Brad's face was filled with grievance, and Anson couldn't bear to look anymore. "That's because you didn't think the movie would succeed. Only when we're in the mud, like you, are you willing to support us. But when we might succeed like you, or even more than you, things change."
"Goddamn it."
"Brad, 'Digital Murder' failing isn't the end of the world. You don't have to curse all of us to rot in the gutter with you."
Brad was at a loss for words. The alcohol clouded his mind. "So, you, I, do you think I'm a monster? All of Hollywood is like this. Get real, Mr. Naive. You should wake up and realize this is the truth. Just like you said earlier."
"Welcome to Hollywood."
"What, are you going to morally judge me? I didn't do anything wrong. Everyone thinks this way. Why can't I? I should be allowed to have my own thoughts too."
That was as good as an admission.
Finally, the truth was cruelly laid bare before them, bloody and raw.
Anson shook his head slightly, feeling a mix of exhaustion and weariness.
"No, Brad, you're right. You didn't commit a crime, and I have no right to morally judge you. This is Hollywood, brutal and cold."
"I, uh..."
Anson let out a long breath, feeling a deep fatigue, as if his soul was slowly sinking, like drowning.
"I just thought we were friends. At the very least, we could genuinely cheer each other on."
"But you're right. I'm too naive. I should reflect on myself."
At this point, there seemed to be no need to continue.
Anson took a deep breath and smiled again.
"Brad, the pursuit of fame isn't easy. We know that, and so do you. I just hope that at least in our lives, there are some true friends."
"No hidden agendas, no underhanded tactics. We're willing to sincerely celebrate each other's successes and also be there to support each other through setbacks, just like the Rat Pack. Even though no one believes in friendship in Hollywood, for God's sake, we're real people, not tools or stepping stones. We should be allowed to have unrealistic dreams."
"In fact, you didn't do anything wrong."
"Maybe it's just me who needs to come to terms with this reality."
Anson looked at Brad. Despite having a thousand things to say, it seemed like none of it mattered anymore. All those eloquent words had lost their power, becoming pale and feeble.
Anger, sadness, bitterness—all of it vanished like smoke, leaving only a sense of helplessness.
"I'm sorry."
Anson said.
It wasn't Brad who apologized, but Anson. Maybe he shouldn't have lifted the glamorous veil, shouldn't have tried to uncover the truth, shouldn't have held onto hope.
That was his mistake.
As he turned around, Anson saw Chris standing in the kitchen doorway, looking lost and dazed.
The air quietly flowed, and the whole world fell silent.