America Tycoon: The Wolf of Showbiz

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Upon entering the small apartment of no more than 80 square meters, Louise's eyes were filled with curiosity, the cramped space crowded with all kinds of furniture and appliances.

"I've cleaned up, but it's still a bit messy," Martin said without any embarrassment, "Make do with it."

Louise asked, "Can I look around however I like?"

Martin replied, "Feel free to enter any room and look at anything. Everything here is open to you."

The bedroom had only two rooms, and once the master bedroom was fitted with a large bed and wardrobe, there was hardly any space left.

The other bedroom had been transformed into a study.

Louise sat on the large bed in the master bedroom when suddenly a rolling noise came from upstairs, a novelty she had never experienced before, as if cat paws had removed her black-rimmed glasses from her face.

The debauchery associated with drunkards and lechers returned, "Martin, if I sing loudly here, will the whole building hear me?"

Martin stepped forward and invited her, "Let's try."

In fact, the sound insulation of the apartment building wasn't too bad.

Her singing quickly spread throughout the building.

Perhaps because it was a new environment she had never been to before, her voice was particularly loud.

As it turned out, no one came to complain about the noise.

This time, the shameless couple had a pang of conscience and didn't call Kelly.

Afterwards, Louise lay there not wanting to move and said, "I'm hungry, get me something to eat."

"I've never used the kitchen, and I don't have any food stored," Martin, who wasn't keen on cooking as a bachelor, suggested, "Let's go out to eat."

Louise curled up like cooked noodles, "I'm too lazy to move."

Martin slapped her on the bottom, "You wait; I'll go out and buy something."

After getting dressed, Martin called a restaurant he frequented to order food and went to pick it up himself.

Waiting for a delivery would take too long.

Less than 20 minutes later, Martin returned with packaged dinner in hand.

From across the hall, Emily peered out the window and saw Martin coming from the parking lot, shouting, "Hurry up, he's back!"

Jessica put away the newly bought "Zombie Stripper" DVD, checked herself out in the mirror, her fair complexion, beautiful face, and long legs—she was moved even by her own reflection.

Emily asked, "Will your plan work?"

"You know why you failed?" Jessica didn't need Emily's response, "Because you were too direct. It's subtlety that's the real beauty."

Emily leaned against the door frame, "Cut the crap and go for it. Apart from sleeping with him, we have no other chance."

After tossing an ice cube into the trash can, Jessica dried her hands and stepped outside.

Her timing was perfect; Martin was just arriving.

Jessica raised her hands, stretched lazily, her thin sweater stretched tightly against her body, allowing two points to stand out prominently, "Hey, Martin, haven't seen you around lately, what have you been busy with?"

Martin pointed to the roof, "Didn't see you at the party last night?"

Jessica responded quickly, "I went to buy some shells; oh, by the way, my shell won't open, can you help me?"

Martin, a serious man, thought she was talking about an actual shell, "What shell? Can't you pry it open with a screwdriver?"

Jessica slyly pulled up her yoga pants, tightening the already snug leggings even more, "The shell I bought is small and round, soft and tender, opening and closing with my breath... If the shell could talk, what would it say?"

Her lips moved, "Is it this phrase, do you want to see it?"

Martin, as determined now as he was eager before, spoke with firm conviction, "No, I don't."

Laughter suddenly erupted, and the door to Martin's apartment swung open. Louise, wearing Martin's shirt, emerged from the doorway, leaning against the frame as she appraised Jessica with a lascivious air, "Come on over, let's do it together."

The woman across the hall was clearly laughing, but Jessica felt uneasy, sensing that if she went over, something terrible would happen.

"No need," she quickly retreated, "I'll figure it out myself."

In her haste to get back, she tripped on the threshold and nearly fell.

Louise pulled Martin back into the room, laughing cheerfully, "Living in this kind of small apartment is quite interesting, Martin. Your female neighbor is seducing you, aren't you going to take her up on it?"

The wayward woman got sassy when she was riled up, "If you don't take her, I certainly will."

Martin unpacked the takeout dinner and commented, "It's fun at the moment of conquest, but what then? What do they aim to get from me? I guess that Jessica might not even be 18."

Louise laughed, "I didn't expect you, a lecher, to think with the brain above at the crucial moment."

"Actually, that's not the main point. It's all about comparison," Martin spoke especially sweetly, "In what way does she compare to you?"

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Louise was excited but not foolish, "Yeah, I can even bring roles for you."

Martin pinched her chin and forced it up, "Look, honey, you have to understand, without staying with me, no new cocktail recipes, you'll never become a great master."

Louise got into character, "Come on, 'casting couch' me!"

......

The day after Christmas, Martin took a gift rich with Atlanta's flavor and headed to the east side of Sherman Oaks to visit former Marietta Theatre Company member Robert Patrick.

Back then, 'Terminator 2' had made Schwarzenegger famous and a top-tier superstar.

Patrick, who played T1000, also benefited hugely.

In the reception room, Patrick, who'd grown a beard, sized Martin up slightly and said, "Jerome called me a while ago and told me about your situation."

Martin reverted to his original accent, "The leader has always taken good care of me, and he gave me your contact information before I set out."

Patrick smiled when he heard the familiar dialect, "I saw the DVD of that 'Zombie Stripper' you were in, it's kind of interesting, did it almost hit 7 million US dollars at the North America box office?"

Martin maintained an appropriate modesty, "Mostly because Lionsgate Films did a good job with the marketing and distribution."

Patrick nodded slowly, "You've had a good start in Hollywood, found an agent yet? Joined the guild?"

"I joined WMA..." Martin picked and chose what he could share.

Patrick understood, "You're vying for the leading role in a horror movie at Warner Bros.? I have some connections there, but they won't influence the lead in a ten million dollar project."

In a Hollywood where every star has their own company, Patrick also had a film company, but he wouldn't get involved in investing just for Martin's sake, even if he wanted to help on Jerome's account, there was a limit.

Martin probed, "The leader mentioned that you maintain close contact with several actors from Georgia?"

Patrick looked at Martin, unclear about his intention.

Martin said, "I don't know if you know Desmond Harrington, he's from Savannah." To avoid any misunderstanding with Patrick, he went straight to the point, "Harrington has worked with Susan Levin, the producer of the drama I want to audition for, and I am seeking info about Susan."

This was routine operation in Hollywood, and Patrick laughed, "Des, I know him well, probably in Malibu right now, I'll give him a call."

He stepped aside to make a call and a few minutes later came back to Martin, "Just wait a bit, he'll be over shortly."

Martin knew he had found the right person and patiently waited.

About half an hour into chatting with Patrick, a handsome Caucasian guy entered the living room.

Patrick introduced Martin and Harrington to each other, "You guys have your chat, I'm going to find a bottle of wine, and then let's have a drink."

Martin exchanged pleasantries with Harrington before getting down to business, "Des, I hope you don't mind my boldness, but I want to ask about something."

Harrington spoke, "Robert told me, just speak your mind."

Martin understood Harrington was mainly doing this for Patrick's sake and got straight to the point, "I heard from friends that it was Susan Levin who picked you for the 'Ghost Ship'?"

"Right, it was Susan Levine's decision," Harrington stated simply. "I had some similar experiences with her, found things in common, like youthful rebellion and getting back on track later. Most of our few interactions revolved around these topics."

He started to laugh, "On that set, I sometimes had the illusion that Susan Levin had fallen for me. But after the drama disbanded, we quickly lost touch; she was clearly more interested in my experiences than me as a person."

Martin was nearly sure now and said, "Thanks for your answer."

Harrington responded indifferently, "No problem, hope it helps."

Martin exchanged contact information with him.

Patrick quickly came back with a bottle of wine, Martin helped open it, and the three men chatted and drank in the living room, the atmosphere growing even more cordial.

As dusk fell, Martin invited them both out to dinner, and after eating, they went to a bar for another round of drinks.

Jerome was just a bridge, a means to solicit Patrick's help once, but bridges can easily break. Martin needed to not only secure the bridge but also widen and pave it for easier crossing.

When they left, Martin had his arm over a tipsy Patrick's shoulder.

Hollywood was full of heavy drinkers and Patrick was no exception, before Harrington helped him into the car, he said, "Martin, let's compete again another time, I can drink Cameron, Schwarzenegger, and Hamilton under the table, you're no match."

Martin, pretending to be as drunk as a lord and on the verge of hopping mad when hearing he couldn't compete, "No need for another time, let's continue now, Robert, I tell you, I met a Robert who claimed to be the biggest drinker in Marietta, and I floored him in an hour."

Harrington pushed and shoved, getting Patrick into the car first, and then asked Martin, "Do you need me to call you a ride?"

"No need," Martin waved at the car, staggering, "Next time, can't stop until one of us falls."

Harrington drove off, turning out of Sunset Boulevard.

Martin wasn't drunk at all, he shook his head to clear it, got into his own car, twisted open a bottle of mineral water for a sip, and took out his phone to call his agent.

"Why do you always call at night?" The other side just connected, and Thomas's irritated voice came through.

Martin acted as if he hadn't heard, "Susan Levin is confirmed."

Thomas immediately forgot his previous words, "Great, we've got a hold on the key." He informed Martin of some news, "Tomorrow, the drama crew will be officially established."