Roman Holiday, Audrey Hepburn, Gregory Peck—
A meeting of minds.
Scarlett blinked, then looked up, her gaze locking onto Anson's clear blue eyes. A smile crept unbidden across her lips and brows.
"Oh, that's nice. I've just been promoted from Cinderella to princess. What about you? Does that mean you're being demoted?"
"Prince or journalist, they're both knights—supporting roles in those stories," Anson offered an answer that was unexpected at first glance but made perfect sense upon reflection.
A shared glance, and both burst into laughter.
Then, Anson looked across the street. "I think... I'm not the only one who needs to clear up a misunderstanding..."
Scarlett caught on immediately, laughing heartily. "Don't worry, Adrian will understand... Haha, he definitely will."
Anson and Scarlett returned to the other side of the street, where Adrian sat cross-legged in frustration, looking like a disgruntled monk. Anson extended a hand to help, but Adrian ignored it, eyeing Anson sidelong. "You a reporter?"
Anson: "..." "Have you ever seen a reporter this handsome?"
Adrian brushed past Anson's outstretched hand and stood on his own, rolling his eyes. "Gregory Peck was a reporter too."
That reference?
Anson and Scarlett exchanged another glance, both laughing again.
Adrian, baffled, tried to explain his joke. "I meant the movie—"
But Scarlett cut him off. "Adrian, let's get back to work."
Adrian instantly grew wary, suspecting his sister was up to something again.
Scarlett didn't bother explaining. "Didn't you say we're in a hurry? I've already wasted enough time. We should go now."
Adrian huffed. "You just realized that?"
With no time left to spar with Anson, Adrian strode toward the parking lot.
But after two steps, his frustration got the better of him. He turned back.
Facing Anson's unflappable calm, the words died on Adrian's lips. He didn't know what to say—but staying silent felt pathetic.
After several false starts, Adrian finally muttered, "That was just bad luck earlier. I wasn't ready. You caught me off guard."
"Bad luck!"
Emphasizing the point, Adrian turned and marched away, picking up speed as if afraid Anson might retort.
Anson was serious—he believed in leaving people with at least a shred of dignity.
So he kept his expression innocent and his mouth shut.
Scarlett winked at Anson, mouthing "Thank you" silently before jogging after Adrian.
Watching the Johnson siblings drive off, Anson returned to his task, pushing the cart into the theater.
The Hayworth Theater was a building sponsored by Hollywood legend the Fonda family. The same complex housed an acting school and a larger theater, hosting performances daily.
The Hayworth itself was unique—a 180-seat venue dedicated to young actors, indie productions, and experimental works.
Despite abysmal attendance year-round, the Fondas never withdrew their support, using it to nurture artistic creation and provide opportunities for unknown creators.
The theater was intimate, with low ceilings and deep red wooden seats arranged in left, center, and right sections, reminiscent of old-school cinemas.
The stage stood just 40 centimeters high, level with the audience, placing performers and viewers on the same plane. The atmosphere was close, almost visceral.
—Every expression, glance, and gesture from the audience was unmistakable.
For actors, the feedback was immediate, vivid, and brutally honest.
Pushing open the door, Anson spotted the cast finalizing stage placements and blocking. James and Seth were fully immersed, gesturing emphatically as if prepping for a Broadway debut.
Chris approached, slipping his phone into his pocket. "What took so long? Thought you'd gotten lost."
Anson half-joked, "Ran into Princess Ann."
Chris didn't miss a beat. "Shouldn't it have been Prince William?"
Taking the water bottles from Anson, Chris added, "Show's about to start, but where's the audience? You sure about this?"
"Patience, Chris. Even if you don't trust James and Seth, trust their agents," Anson reassured.
Chris smirked. "Opposite. I trust them—just not their agents. With 70-80 clients each, they've probably forgotten this play exists."
Not pessimism—just realism.
Hollywood's first lesson: Never expect too much. No one is irreplaceable.
Yet—
Anson was right.
Though Freaks and Geeks had been canceled due to poor ratings, it marked the genesis of the second-generation Frat Pack, launching an era in Hollywood.
What was the Frat Pack?
Simply put, it was a loose collective of comedians banding together in the '90s to counter Jim Carrey's dominance. Led by Ben Stiller, they used a cost-effective "strength in numbers" approach—cross-promoting, cameoing, and collaborating.
While they never dethroned Carrey, they carved out their own niche with a string of cult comedies.
Ben Stiller headed the first-gen Frat Pack. The second generation began with Judd Apatow's The 40-Year-Old Virgin in 2005, becoming a cornerstone of 2000s American comedy.
Freaks and Geeks was where it all started. Judd Apatow directed, while James Franco, Seth Rogen, Jason Segel, and others formed the core of the movement.
The Frat Pack's hallmark was solidarity. Mutual support was a given.
There was no way they'd miss James and Seth's play. Judd led the charge, followed by the Freaks and Geeks cast.
Then the agents' networks kicked in—reporters, producers, casting directors, writers—they all trickled in.
Ten minutes before curtain, the Hayworth was over 60% full—a rarity for an indie production.
Chris, tasked with handing out merch, was run off his feet. He shot Anson an incredulous look:
Is this for real?
The only question was—
How many were genuine theatergoers? How many had bought tickets out of pure interest?
One? Or two?
(End of chapter)