Hunting in Hollywood

She received a strange phone call from an unknown man asking if she was interested in starring in a movie.

Simon Westeros.

Simon, she knew that name.

Westeros, it seemed familiar, like she had heard it somewhere.

That's right, at the Robert family's party.

Robert Duvall, an Oscar-winning actor and her senior by thirty years, was her mentor.

Years ago, Robert Duvall also studied drama under Sanford Meisner, and it was through his connections that she was fortunate enough to be signed by WMA Vice President Jonathan Friedman.

Having moved to Los Angeles, this enthusiastic elder mentor had invited her to his party last weekend, introducing her to numerous Hollywood stars.

She remembered overhearing someone mention a man with the last name Westeros at the party.

It was an unusual surname.

So, she immediately took note of it.

But she wasn't quite sure what he did.

Perhaps it was someone else.

Then she asked cautiously how he got her contact information.

Sensing her wariness, the man on the phone explained the reason.

He was also a client of Jonathan, and he got her contact from the agent.

She was not so easily convinced.

She called her agent, Jonathan, who seemed surprised by her story but confirmed the man's account, even suggesting that she should accept his offer, claiming it could be a wonderful opportunity for her.

Being signed under a top Hollywood agent had its clear advantages, but also significant downsides.

At least, her agent, who recently managed more than thirty clients, had been too busy to give her much attention.

Determined to make her way in Hollywood, she had been prepared to be patient.

Recently, she even considered getting a part-time job to earn some living expenses.

Or going back to New York to act in theater for a while.

She couldn't just sit idle.

Her family background was good; she didn't have to worry about making ends meet.

In fact, most men and women who could afford to linger in Hollywood had substantial familial support.

Those lacking a performance background needed to learn acting; auditions required meticulous preparation; and participating in various skill workshops was often necessary to land roles in movies or TV shows...

All of these demanded considerable time and money.

Therefore, although not absolutely, it was indeed hard for people from lower socio-economic backgrounds to succeed in Hollywood. They often had to expend most of their energy just to make ends meet, leaving little room to chase their so-called dreams.

Many couldn't persist and might even fall into another large-scale 'film' industry in Los Angeles.

Located in the San Fernando Valley.

Just like Stallone before he made it big.

She even secretly watched that video tape back in the day.

Embarrassing.

A stain on the life of 'Rocky'.

Since her agent confirmed it was okay, she considered it briefly and agreed to meet him.

Sunday afternoon at two.

The place was next to Douglas Park in downtown Santa Monica.

She arrived on time in her brand new Chrysler sedan, only to be stood up.

This was too much.

She thought about just leaving, but decided to make a call instead.

The phone was answered by the same heavily accented old man, who rambled for a bit before handing it over.

The man on the other end was very apologetic, explaining that his tire had blown and he was fixing it, then gave her another address and offered to take her out to dinner to apologize.

Considering the address, it didn't seem too far.

Alright.

Given his sincere tone, she restarted her car and navigated through the streets of Santa Monica, eventually finding a motel in the northern part of the city near the southern edge.

She parked in front of the motel, got out, and looked around.

A few cars were parked quietly nearby, none in the midst of repairs. Under the motel's awning, however, an old man in a floral shirt and beach shorts was fussing with an upside-down bicycle.

The young man behind the bicycle.

Hmm.

That must be him.

So she walked over.

As she approached, the leisurely old man patted the young man's shoulder to alert him.

He looked up, saw her, and stood up smiling.

He was quite handsome with a healthy tan, tall and good-looking.

He must be an actor too.

Wonder why he wants to shoot a film.

Well, boys do love their adventures.

"Hi, I'm Sandra Bullock," she said as the boy extended his hand, which she shook, adding, "We just spoke on the phone."

"Simon Westeros," he introduced himself in return, apologizing again, "I'm really sorry, I was on my way when I found out my tire blew out. I was worried I'd be late, so I stayed at the motel waiting for your call."

Boys often act magnanimously in front of pretty girls.

It seems.

Girls do the same in front of handsome boys.

Even though she was a cheerleader in high

 school, she knew she wasn't particularly beautiful.

So, at that moment, she felt very gracious.

"No worries," she said breezily, pointing at his bicycle, "So, you're fixing it yourself?"

"I went to buy tools after our call; it'll take a little while," he explained, then gestured, "Let's talk over there."

They walked under the motel's awning, where he politely greeted the old man who had brought over a chair for her.

The old man nodded smilingly at her, then started speaking rapidly in Spanish with Simon Westeros, occasionally glancing at her and making cheeky expressions.

It sounded like gibberish to her.

Hmm.

That must be Spanish.

Having grown up in Germany, she spoke German besides English.

But not Spanish.

She could only sit awkwardly as the young man and the old man continued their rapid Spanish exchange.

Definitely nothing flattering.

Although his complexion was dark, it seemed to be from sun exposure. From his facial structure, he didn't appear to have Hispanic ancestry, leaning more towards Germanic features, surprising her with his fluent Spanish.

And he could fix things.

Wonder if he could fix plumbing.

She remembered when her family's pipes burst as a child, her father was clueless, only knowing to call a worker, not even how to shut off the water valve first.

Thinking this, she watched him inflate the tire, rubbing it close to his face, turning it bit by bit.

The old man mumbled something, probably criticizing his method.

Then his rebuttal.

Curious, she asked, "What's this for?"

He didn't answer right away but instead turned the tire a bit more, stopped, and smiling, told her, "Lean in."

She obediently leaned in, and he pressed the tire against her.

A small gust of air hit her face.

It felt oddly comforting.

Before she could enjoy it longer, he moved away, saying, "It's leaking air here."

Then, he took a toothpick, carefully placed it in the newly found hole, and began to rotate the tire again.

This time, she understood that he was checking for other leaks.

Watching him work intently, she recalled what her agent had told her on the phone the day before. Perhaps, this really would be a wonderful experience for her.