As they chatted, the group made their way to the conference room.
Leonardo glanced at Jack Nicholson, who was arguing with Matt Damon over whether Kobe should be the Lakers’ leader, and suddenly slowed his pace.
Martin caught on and also fell back a few steps.
"Kate asked me about you. Buddy, she’s getting married. What do you think?"
"Me? I wish her the best."
"Wow, you really are a heartless bastard!"
Leonardo flipped Martin the middle finger.
"Come on, Kate and I just had a one-night fling—no feelings involved. I’m sure she thought the same."
"Heh, well, she hasn’t gotten over you. So tell me, just how ’fun’ was that night? Because even after accepting Sam Mendes’ proposal, she was still hesitating. She told me she kept waiting for your call, but since you never reached out, she decided to give up on some unrealistic fantasy and marry reality instead."
Martin knew about Sam Mendes—the director of American Beauty and a solid producer. He chuckled, "Kate and I are just good friends."
"Well, now she can finally move on."
Leonardo shifted gears. "Honestly, I never agreed with Kate getting caught up in your whole ’king and his harem’ situation. She’s insecure—she needs a marriage, a family. If she stayed with you, you’d just keep her hanging forever, and she’d end up stuck with you for life."
"What’s so bad about being stuck with me?" Martin thought to himself.
Out loud, he said, "You’re right. Kate should find her own happiness. I can’t give her a family—only a life of wealth, freedom, and thrilling adventures."
"I feel like you’re showing off." Leonardo stroked his chin and squinted at Martin.
Martin nodded with a grin. "I am. But my blessing for Kate is still sincere."
When they arrived at the conference room, Martin noticed that the walls and windows were completely covered with thick black cloth, leaving the room in total darkness.
A long conference table stood in the center, with candelabras on top. The flickering candlelight barely illuminated the space.
"Holy shit, what’s going on? Are we about to perform some kind of cult ritual?"
Martin looked genuinely surprised.
Matt Damon and Leonardo, however, seemed completely unfazed.
Leonardo pointed at Jack Nicholson. "It’s all his doing."
Jack Nicholson, unbothered, smirked. "Doesn’t this kind of setting help with focus?"
Matt Damon muttered, "More like it makes people want to pee."
The four of them sat down, and the rest of the cast and crew trickled in. No one seemed to find the eerie setting unusual.
Director Scorsese entered last. He took one look at the pitch-black room and sighed. "Jack, I told you to take this stuff down."
"Relax, relax. Martin just got here—he hasn’t been baptized yet. Tomorrow, I’ll take it down." Jack Nicholson grinned mischievously.
"Baptized?" Martin was confused.
Leonardo smirked. "You’ll see soon enough."
"Alright, just hurry up." Scorsese clearly knew he couldn’t argue with his old friend.
The next second, a piercing, eerie scream erupted from beneath the table:
"Jie Jie Jie Jie Jie Jie Jie Jie..."
In this creepy atmosphere, such a sudden sound would startle anyone. In fact, Matt Damon nearly peed himself.
Everyone turned to Martin, eager to see the genius filmmaker get spooked and embarrassed.
But Martin wasn’t just any normal person. He wasn’t even human.
Completely unfazed, he reached under the table, fumbled around for a moment, then yanked out a speaker that had been taped to the underside. He casually tossed it to Jack Nicholson and scoffed, "That’s it? Lame."
Jack Nicholson’s eyes widened in shock.
Scorsese burst into laughter. "Jack, looks like you miscalculated this time. Martin’s got more guts than you thought."
Jack ignored him and turned to Matt Damon. "Did you warn him?"
Matt quickly raised his hands. "I didn’t! I swear!"
Though inwardly, he thought, I may have dropped a tiny hint...
Jack then turned to Leonardo. "So it was you?"
Leonardo looked innocent. "Come on, I was the one who gave you this idea in the first place! I wanted to see Martin get scared even more than you did."
"Then what happened?" Jack rubbed his chin and studied Martin suspiciously. "Are you really that fearless?"
"Alright, alright, enough with the pranks. Show’s over." Scorsese chuckled. "Martin’s faced armed robbers and serial killers—your little trick won’t scare him."
Martin flashed Scorsese a thumbs-up. "See, Old Marty knows me well. Unlike these two."
He shot a disdainful glance at Jack and Leonardo.
Before long, the black cloth and candles were cleared away, and the room was restored to its normal brightness.
Jack Nicholson sulkily tossed the speaker to the floor. Clearly, he wasn’t happy that his prank had failed.
Scorsese didn’t bother with him. Having known Jack for nearly thirty years, he understood that while Jack loved messing around, he never let it interfere with work.
He stepped up to a whiteboard. "Alright, script reading session begins. I’ll start by breaking down the character relationships."
For a man his age, memorizing an entire script was no small feat. But Scorsese had done exactly that. Without glancing at any notes, he began listing characters on the whiteboard and drawing flowcharts to illustrate their connections.
As he spoke, the actors jotted down notes, recording his analysis of their roles and their own thoughts.
Only Martin and Jack Nicholson remained relaxed in their seats, listening but not taking notes.
Jack nudged Martin’s arm. "Why aren’t you writing anything?"
"I wrote the script. Every character’s story is already in my head." Martin tapped his temple, looking smug.
Then he turned the question back on Jack. "Why aren’t you writing?"
Jack grinned. "I like to improvise. Marty’s analysis is useless to me."