I am Hollywood

[Chapter 1054: Pseudologia Fantastica]

"If you could," Eric handed the frying pan to Anne Hathaway, "I'll go grab your clothes, they should be done washing by now."

Despite having grown up in privilege, Anne Hathaway had spent a few months living alone in Los Angeles and had naturally picked up the necessary life skills during that time.

Eric entrusted the task of making breakfast to the girl before leaving the kitchen.

...

Twenty minutes later, when Anne Hathaway brought the finished breakfast to the dining room, Eric was sitting at the table scrolling through emails on his laptop. Upon noticing her arrival, he pointed to a bag filled with clothes resting on a nearby chair.

Anne nodded, placing the plate of fried eggs, salad, and muffins in front of Eric. She eagerly set the utensils and took a seat beside him, her eyes lighting up with anticipation. "Eric, how does my cooking taste?"

Eric picked up a muffin, took a bite, and nodded. "Not bad."

"Well, I didn't make this -- just took it from the fridge," she confessed.

"It's still yours," Eric smiled, glancing at the girl beside him. "Aren't you having breakfast?"

"Oh, mine's in the kitchen," Anne replied, standing again. "Eric, do you need anything else?"

"Just pour me a glass of milk."

"Sure thing," Anne nodded, dutifully walking back to the kitchen.

Anne ate slowly, and by the time Eric set down his utensils, she was still delicately working through her salad.

As he observed her, though her face seemed a bit youthful and her mouth slightly large, he had to admit that her eyes were incredibly beautiful.

After admiring her for a moment, Eric said, "By the way, I scheduled an audition for you. You just need to go to the Columbia Pictures headquarters in Culver City tomorrow."

Seeing the excitement in her big eyes, Eric chuckled a bit, tempering her enthusiasm. "But don't get your hopes up too much; it's just a small role. You're currently in that awkward age range for Hollywood actors, so you might just want to take on some minor roles in films for a couple of years to hone your craft. Also, if you want to go further in this industry, consider signing up for an acting workshop. No one has natural talent; even Meryl Streep graduated from Yale's drama program."

Anne listened intently, nodding her head, but her focus remained on the role Eric just mentioned. "Eric, what am I playing?"

"It's a biopic about a girl with borderline personality disorder undergoing treatment at a rehab facility. The two leads are Winona Ryder and Charlize Theron, and you'll play a girl suffering from pseudologia fantastica."

Hearing she'd be acting alongside two of Hollywood's youngest leading ladies, Anne felt her previous disappointment diminish. If this man could help her succeed, she believed that one day her fame would rival theirs.

With these thoughts racing in her mind, her tone softened, reminiscent of a curious kitten. "Eric, what is pseudologia fantastica?"

"Simply put," Eric replied with a smile at the corner of his mouth, "it means a habitual tendency to lie."

"Ah!"

Anne noticed the slightly mischievous smile on Eric's face and immediately understood that he had somehow caught wind of her little fibs from the day before.

Blinking her big, expressive eyes, she seemed to want to express her vulnerability but wisely chose not to defend herself this time.

Seeing that she was nearly done eating, Eric smiled, pushed his plate to the center of the table, and patted the spot in front of him. "Come here."

Anne walked over, following Eric's gesture to sit down at the table in front of him, her little feet resting on his lap. She was still just wearing a shirt, and in this position, she instinctively pressed down on its hem, feeling a little shy. After a moment of contemplation, she parted her legs slightly.

Eric simply wrapped his arms around the girl's slender waist as he set her atop the table, not pursuing anything further. Though the tempting young beauty before him was alluring, he had work to do today and didn't have time for distractions. He continued, "From now on, don't play any tricks in front of me, or I might really send you to a psychiatric hospital."

Anne drew her neck in like a startled rabbit, nodding obediently.

Eric moved on, continuing his previous train of thought. "Actually, this role is quite interesting. In the script, you'll have a dialogue with Winona about a girl who has been disfigured. Your character seriously recounts the story of how that girl became disfigured. Winona listens with profound empathy and sympathy and then asks you how you ended up in the rehab facility. You reply: 'Pseudologia fantastica.'"

Noticing the confused expression on Anne's face, Eric raised his hand and gently pinched her chin, smiling as he added, "When you get the script, make sure to study that scene carefully. If you can nail that performance, the audience will remember you through that character."

In the original version of Girl, Interrupted, the character with pseudologia fantastica was played by Clea DuVall, who often appeared in teen films during the late '90s.

While Eric believed that the actress's performance in the role was somewhat underwhelming, that intriguing and dramatically contrasting dialogue still left an impression on him. It felt as if one were wandering through an old, eerie house and suddenly realizing that the seemingly harmless old man narrating ghost stories was likely to be the "protagonist" of the tale.

Looking into Anne's innocent and lively eyes, Eric couldn't help but think that if she were to take on that role, the contrast would be significantly more intense. As long as she put enough effort into that character, audiences would undoubtedly remember the girl named Anne Hathaway while enjoying Winona and Charlize's performances.

In Hollywood, it didn't matter whether you were acting in a great film or a terrible one; as long as the audience remembered you, then you were deemed a success.

However, Eric didn't explain too much further to her. The opportunity had been provided; if she couldn't seize it, then it was just remaining mediocre for her.

Having finished his thoughts, Eric took a credit card from his wallet and said, "Oh, here's something for you."

When Anne saw the black card presented by Eric, her fingers twitched. She understood what the Citibank black card implied, but after hesitating, she resisted the temptation and shook her head. "Eric, I can't take this."

Eric, however, simply shoved the card into her hand. "Isn't your birthday next month? You could use it to buy yourself a house or a car as a birthday gift from me. Whatever you want, it's up to you; girls generally have a knack for spending more money than us guys anyway."

Feeling the texture of the card in her hand, Anne hesitated but eventually nodded slightly.

"Now, one last thing," Eric's expression turned serious. "Remember, with this card, you're mine. But I'm not someone who forces relationships; whenever you feel like leaving your current life behind, just call to have this card canceled and you'll be free. But until then, remember that you belong to me, and don't do anything you shouldn't. Understand?"

Anne certainly understood Eric's implication. For a moment, she considered returning the credit card to him, wanting to avoid becoming a living trophy. But after a moment of hesitation, the temptation outweighed her rational thoughts. She nodded gently, then couldn't help but ask quietly, "Eric, what if this card..."

Eric reached out and pinched her cheek again, smiling. "If you can max it out, then you're something else. But remember, the more you gain, the more you have to give back. Don't ever think I'm a fool."

"Uh, I understand."

"Good," Eric said, handing over two business cards. "One is mine, and one is my assistant's office. If you have any issues, you can call me. For other things, like buying a house, just contact my assistant's office. They'll help arrange it. You'll get eaten alive if you try to do it alone. Now, go change your clothes. I've sent your agent over to Firefly Group; I'll have a word with him shortly."

...

An hour later, Anne Hathaway sat in her agent Carl Franco's car, reflecting on everything that had happened over the past two days. It felt as if she had been in a long dream.

Lost in thought, she didn't notice Carl's hesitations until he was about to speak a few times. She finally perked up and turned to him seriously. "Uncle Carl, please don't tell my parents about this, okay?"

Carl Franco was a man in his forties. He initially signed on Anne because of a friend's referral, and he didn't have any specific expectations from her.

When he received the call saying Eric Williams wanted to meet, he thought someone was joking with him until the call reached the owner of his agent company, who then redirected it to him. He hurriedly drove to Firefly Group.

Thinking about Eric Williams' instructions lingered in his mind, imagining he might soon have a top-tier Hollywood actress under his wing filled Carl Franco with anticipation for the future.

Upon hearing Anne's words, Carl quickly nodded without a second thought. He obviously knew how to handle the situation to his advantage. "Anne, are you settling into the shared living arrangement with Kristen and the others okay? If not, I can help you find a new place. Don't worry; the rental company can temporarily cover the costs."

Anne had been living with a few girls from the agency in a shared apartment in West Hollywood. Though the building was recommended by the agency, the rent was quite high, and the girls were the ones actually paying it.

The other girls, being older and having their own income, had no trouble, but Anne, being the youngest and new to Hollywood, sent the bills to her parents -- much like how Rachel had relied on her father's credit card in the early episodes of Friends.

Anne didn't like the idea of sharing a place with others, but upon hearing Carl's suggestion, she also thought of the credit card tucked in her purse. Glancing around, she pointed to a nearby bank. "Uncle Carl, can we stop there?"

Seeing Anne had disregarded his earlier proposal about housing, Carl nodded and soon pulled over.

"Uncle Carl, just wait a moment; I'll be right back."

...

After the car stopped and she got out, Anne walked over to the bank's ATM. Feeling a bit nervous, she quickly glanced around before pulling out the black card and inserting it into the machine, letting out a soft breath.

How much could it be?

At least... it had to be over a million, right? There was no way less would suffice for a decent home in Los Angeles.

She had been paying attention; the shared apartment she was in was going for over thirty thousand dollars, and the property prices had rapidly increased over the years. If she could buy her own house, she hoped it would be in Santa Monica for a better environment, though Beverly Hills was wishful thinking for now.

With these thoughts in mind, she entered the page, took another deep breath, and pressed the button for balance inquiry.

The screen lit up with numbers that made her blink in disbelief; the balance didn't show a round number but a long string of irregular figures -- likely from his personal credit card usage.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.

Even though the commas made the digits easier to discern, she still counted them a few times to be sure.

Yes, it was eight figures before the decimal point.

Scanning the numbers one last time, she read: 36,561,975.33.

Thirty-six million five hundred sixty-one thousand nine hundred seventy-five dollars and thirty-three cents.

Internally screaming with excitement and a tinge of fear, Anne Hathaway felt all the energy drain from her, leaning weakly against the ATM for what felt like an eternity, barely managing to avoid collapsing onto the ground.

After gathering herself, she glanced at the overwhelming credit limit, and the first thought that zipped through her mind was nothing less than: Oh my God, how am I supposed to spend this!

...

For the next few days, Eric received several calls from Anne, each with reasons both trivial and serious. During the final filming of Gravity, he found it challenging to focus on her, eventually warning her that unless it was something significant, she should limit her calls to once a week. Finally, his ears found some much-needed peace.

After the last week of studio shooting, on October 21, the crew officially set out, leaving Los Angeles for nearby Arizona, where the final outdoor scenes would be filmed by a large lake in the Phoenix area.

At the same time, Eric intended to let the entire crew unwind. After months of continuous shooting, everyone was exhausted. Although Eric was at an age full of energy, the past few months had not been easy.

On the highway to Arizona, a convoy of over twenty vehicles made a grand sight, and two helicopters trailing behind them made it even more distinct.

Helicopters were not uncommon, but these two helicopters, each over twenty meters long, looked like the difference between a falcon and a dove when compared to ordinary civilian helicopters. Their all-black, ostentatious design was much more eye-catching and cooler than most, drawing the attention of countless passersby and prompting some drivers to pull over to snap photos.

*****

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