Sam Raimi sat awkwardly and stiffly at the table, patiently waiting for a server to come over and take his order. His extremely introverted personality made him too shy to speak up—
Afraid to interrupt anyone's work.
He had been sitting there for fifteen minutes, not even getting a sip of water. The servers passing by mistakenly assumed that his order had already been taken. Even when they occasionally noticed the empty table, they didn't approach, too busy with the early dinner rush to stop.
Sitting there, tense and pitiful, he avoided making eye contact with anyone, only sneaking glances at the bustling crowd through his peripheral vision. His hunched shoulders and nervous demeanor made him look like a shivering stray dog caught in the rain.
"Good evening, is this seat taken?"
A polite voice inquired from in front of him.
Sam's heart leaped: Finally! Was the server here to take his order?
He raised his head slightly, only to see two unexpected faces: Anson and a stranger. Neither of them were servers.
Sam froze, his brain momentarily unable to process due to low blood sugar, instinctively feeling a bit wary—
Sloth mode activated again.
Anson wasn't surprised by the reaction, but unlike in the morning, he now offered a smile. "Wait, Director, are you saying this table is already taken?"
Could it be that Sam could see something that others couldn't?
Sam blinked, following Anson's gaze to the seat next to him, taking an extra moment to understand Anson's joke.
A small chuckle escaped him as the corners of his mouth lifted slightly. He looked back at Anson, swallowing nervously, unsure if he should speak. After a moment's hesitation, he finally asked, "Why are you here?"
Anson smiled, "If I said it was a coincidence, would you believe me, Director?"
That afternoon, Ian Bryce had called him, inviting him to dinner and to meet a promising actor who was being considered for a role.
He disliked socializing outside of work, even avoided it. He felt that he had already gathered all the necessary information during the audition, making further meetings unnecessary.
Although Ian hadn't mentioned who the actor was, now, seeing Anson here, Sam didn't believe it was a coincidence.
The answer couldn't be more obvious.
Anson didn't mind, though. "We saw you, Director, and thought we'd come over to say hello. If you'd rather not be disturbed, we'll leave you to your meal. Oh, and by the way, Director, you should try the boiled beef here. I'm sure it'll surprise you."
After speaking, Anson patted Edgar on the shoulder, without introducing him or lingering, and turned to leave.
Sam didn't say a word, watching Anson's retreating figure—
He really didn't linger, and his entire posture seemed particularly carefree.
He stopped a little distance away, summoned a waiter, and informed him, "The guest behind me hasn't ordered yet." The waiter looked surprised and denied it, but under Anson's firm gaze, the waiter swallowed his words and walked towards Sam.
"Excuse me, have we not taken your order yet?"
Sam instinctively responded, "Yes, not yet."
His voice was as soft as a mosquito's buzz; anyone unaware would have thought Sam had done something wrong, making the innocent-looking waiter seem like a strict stepmother punishing a child.
Sam's attention wasn't on the waiter but on Anson.
With Sam's habits, he wouldn't normally bother with Anson. It was dinner time, his personal time, and work should take a backseat; but the key was, what was "spicy boiled beef"?
Sam didn't even realize he swallowed a gulp of saliva.
Some hesitation, some doubt, recalling the morning's audition and their brief encounter, thoughts swirled in his mind, and he finally made up his mind.
His voice was slightly louder than a mosquito's buzz. As he spoke, he glanced around at the other diners, afraid of disturbing their meals.
"Anson, if you don't mind, why don't you join me? I see the restaurant is full, so there's no need to waste space."
"There's... no one here."
Sam glanced at the empty seats beside and across from him, remembering Anson's earlier words, and couldn't help but smile.
With his back to Sam, Edgar looked incredulous, glancing at Anson:
In the afternoon, Ian had conveyed that Sam refused to meet for dinner. Edgar had planned to go with the flow and meet Ian instead, but Ian said it wasn't necessary.
"I like Anson. Although we still need to discuss things, everyone has their own opinions, but I lean toward Anson for this role."
"So, you don't need to worry about me; think about how to convince others." ᴛhis chapter is ᴜpdated by N()velFire.net
"Here's a tip: the director doesn't like hotel food. He goes out to eat every night."
"Food, that's probably one of the director's biggest interests. He has specific tastes and always likes to try new dishes."
A little insider information from Ian, "No need to thank me, I'm just trying to gather allies. Everyone wants the film to follow their vision, and I want the director on my side. Now, it's up to you."
They patiently waited at the hotel entrance, tailed Sam to Chinatown, and bided their time, creating this moment.
Sure enough, Sam was a tough nut to crack, and Edgar didn't even have a chance to speak. But surprisingly, Anson still managed to create an opportunity.
Edgar glanced at Anson.
Anson gave Edgar a look; they could sense Sam's wariness, which meant tonight's strategy might need adjusting.
If they jumped straight into discussing the role or performance, they could end up backfiring, making Sam even more guarded and ruining the good impression they'd built so far; so, they needed to leave an impression, but with more finesse.
Turning, Anson and Edgar sat down opposite Sam.
But Anson didn't rush to introduce Edgar; instead, he looked at Sam, "Director, do you have any favorite foods, or are you open to trying something new?"
He liked new things, he liked trying different foods, but he didn't want this to be a weakness, so he usually kept it hidden.
For those who didn't know Sam well, they thought he was a "neat freak," liking routine and familiar things.
So, should he stick to his persona, or take a step forward?
Looking at Anson, with his gentle yet bright demeanor, not aggressively pushing recommendations, but still sparking curiosity, Sam swallowed another gulp of saliva.
Sam thought for a moment, "Do you have any recommendations?"
Anson smiled, "I know a little about Chinese food."
Really, just "a little."