Chapter 89: Forming a Clique

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The large bar fell silent as the sound of an Irish tin whistle began to play, accompanied by a deep female vocal. This tune had once been a global hit, and the patrons easily recognized it. However, it seemed out of place in an underground strip club.

After tipping the dancer, Seth Rogen returned to the second floor. Many patrons suddenly looked up from the dance floor and could see a chubby man standing by the railing of a large booth on the second floor.

The chubby man closed his eyes and stretched his arms wide as if soaring in the wind or waiting for something.

A handsome young man appeared behind him, wearing a roguish smile that made him exceptionally charming.

The Irish whistle's sound grew louder, and the female vocal became more intense.

"Hurry up!" Murphy shouted towards the railing, "James, what are you waiting for?"

James Franco stepped forward, pressing himself tightly against Jonah Hill's back, his hands gripping Jonah's barrel-like waist. Using his height advantage, he peered over Jonah Hill's right shoulder.

He stared at Jonah Hill's profile.

"Oh! Wow..." The bar erupted in cheers.

Most people were watching the affectionate pair on the second floor, eager to see what they would do next.

The stimulating alcohol, Murphy and Seth Rogen's prodding, and the bar's cheers gave the normally timid James Franco the courage to loudly declare, "Do you trust me, Rose?"

Jonah Hill turned his head, looking at him deeply, "I trust you, Jack."

"Step up," James Franco urged, pushing Jonah Hill's hefty waist forward. "Close your eyes and no peeking."

Jonah Hill stepped onto the railing. He was so heavy that the metal railing seemed to tremble.

James Franco pressed close behind him, "Do you trust me?"

As he spoke, he grabbed Jonah Hill's arms, and together they struck a pose like flying in the wind.

"I trust you!" Jonah Hill shouted loudly.

He opened his eyes, turning to James Franco, "I'm flying, Jack!"

James Franco gazed back at him, both sharing a deep look. He shouted, "Let's fly together, Rose!"

Their heads drew closer, their eyes met, and their lips neared.

The bar echoed with laughter and screams, the atmosphere hitting its peak.

Just as the Irish whistle played on, and with their faces only an inch apart, James Franco and Jonah Hill abruptly pulled away. James Franco stepped back, turning to the left, while Jonah Hill jumped off the railing, turning to the right.

Both of them began to retch.

"Your breath stinks!" James Franco pointed at Jonah Hill, who waved his hand, "You have halitosis."

The patrons who had been waiting to see a good show booed and jeered as the two chickened out at the last moment.

"That doesn't count, that doesn't count!" Seth Rogen shouted in dissatisfaction, "You guys haven't kissed yet!"

Jonah Hill, retching not just from James Franco's breath but from the overall situation, turned and flipped him off, "Go to hell, Seth!"

James Franco came back, plopping down next to Seth Rogen. He grabbed a beer and chugged it, feeling a bit better, "Seth, if you want to kiss Jonah, go ahead. I can't stand his fat face."

"What's wrong with being fat?"

Ignoring the jeers from the bar, Jonah Hill returned, clearly displeased by James Franco's comment, "I'm much better than you, a supposedly upright but actually shameless and sleazy guy!"

James Franco, Jonah Hill, and Seth Rogen kept hurling insults and dirty jokes at each other like mad dogs.

The four stayed at the bar until nearly 1 a.m., having drunk countless beers. By the time they left, Murphy was the only one relatively sober, while the other three staggered around.

Too drunk to drive, Murphy called for a taxi outside the bar. The four of them leaned against his black Ford, chatting as they waited.

"Where do you live?" Murphy asked Jonah Hill, planning to drop them off on the way.

Jonah Hill stumbled a few steps, sat on the curb, and hiccupped, "I... I live in West Hollywood, sharing a place with some people."

He pointed at his chest, "I share with two other actors, and I sleep on the couch."

Seth Rogen joined him, heavily patting his shoulder, "I sleep on the couch too, in James' small apartment."

Financially, none of them were well off. Murphy had some money but faced investment pressures. James Franco, though somewhat known, was not as glamorous as he seemed, with considerable expenses.

They were all struggling in Hollywood, trying to make it big in the industry.

Perhaps it was the alcohol, or perhaps it was just his nature, but the free-spirited James Franco suddenly clapped his hands loudly to get the others' attention, "I..."

He hiccupped, "I have a proposal. I think the four of us get along really well. We should form an alliance to help each other when needed."

He was the oldest of the four but not the most reliable.

Despite being drunk, Seth Rogen and Jonah Hill considered the idea, their eyes naturally turning to Murphy.

Compared to James Franco, they saw Murphy as more stable and reliable, better suited to be the backbone.

Leaning against the driver's side door, Murphy looked at James Franco, Seth Rogen, and Jonah Hill in turn. They were all somewhat alike, young, ambitious, and straightforward, with a strong desire for the future...

Murphy straightened up, walked over to Seth Rogen and Jonah Hill, and extended his hand, palm up. Drunk and slow to think of appropriate words, he improvised, "Let's form a clique and support each other!"

James Franco was the first to place his hand on Murphy's, followed by Jonah Hill and Seth Rogen.

"Let's form a clique and support each other!"