Chapter 83: Breaking Free

Pfft.

A laugh came from nearby, but it was quickly muffled by a hand covering the mouth.

Glatt rolled her eyes and glared at Anson, "This isn't funny."

But the corners of her mouth lifted slightly, and her stern expression relaxed completely. The tense atmosphere quietly dissipated.

Pfft.

Then came another laugh, and this time it wasn't controlled. It spread like wildfire, quickly filling the entire studio.

Laughter erupted.

Except for Anson.

Anson spread his hands, his face calm, "People need some flaws, otherwise they're too perfect, it doesn't feel real."

Ha.

Laughter exploded completely.

Including Glatt.

Anson walked forward and stood beside Glatt and Bruce.

"Sorry, you guys didn't suppress your voices at all during your conversation earlier, not caring about my bleeding wounds as the person involved. Didn't we agree that we should avoid the person involved when talking behind their back? Now that you've finished hurting me, can I express my opinion?"

Hahaha.

The atmosphere completely relaxed.

Even Bruce's expressionless face showed a slight upward curve at the corner of his mouth.

Glatt controlled her smile, trying her best to maintain a professional and objective demeanor, "Of course, what are your thoughts?"

Anson didn't speak immediately. Instead, he shifted his gaze between Glatt and Bruce, making sure he had both their attention before he opened his mouth.

"How about we try Bruce's suggestion and see how it turns out? If it doesn't work, we can always go back to the original plan for the second and third sets of styling."

This was indeed a solution.

"Of course, the shooting time might be a bit tight, but by then, we all know I'm beyond saving, so we can just wrap it up with a few casual shots."

Glatt looked at Anson, a smile in her eyes, "Are you already eager to leave the studio?"

Anson looked up at the sky, "Hallelujah."

Glatt's smile bloomed fully, unable to maintain her professional supermodel face any longer. This time, she didn't hesitate for too long, "But, Bruce can't give any opinions on the styling."

"And me?"

"I think this styling is already complete and doesn't need to be changed. Honestly, I can't understand Bruce's idea, our ways of thinking are not on the same track."

Anson smiled, "I have some ideas about this."

Glatt was slightly taken aback, but then she thought—

Maybe this was a stroke of genius?

The image of Anson appearing at Studio 24 for the press interview, the stunning photo from the "New York Times," immediately flashed in Glatt's mind.

If there were no agents or publicists involved, it meant that the styling was Anson's own idea.

Taking a deep breath, Glatt looked at Anson, "Why don't we give it a try?"

Then.

Anson got busy.

Five minutes later.

Or maybe ten minutes?

Glatt wasn't sure. On the studio set, she had all the decision-making power, which also meant that if anything went wrong, she would have to bear the responsibility. After calming down, she finally realized the madness of the whole thing. Amidst a bit of excitement and a bit of joy, she couldn't help but feel a bit nervous.

Thus.

The waiting time started to become agonizing.

Standing at the entrance of Studio 24, Glatt took a few steps outside and looked down Melrose Avenue—

Melrose wasn't the center of Los Angeles at the moment. The clash of different styles like hippies, rock, and gypsy made the street look a bit worn-out. The golden California sunlight fell on the graffiti and buildings, creating an oil-painting-like texture, naturally exuding an artistic feel.

It couldn't be fabricated, it couldn't be faked, everything was natural.

In fact, for fashion magazines, Melrose had always been one of the important locations for street photography.

But, a suit theme?

Glatt wasn't sure what kind of spark a suit and Melrose would create.

Whoosh.

The warehouse door opened, and Glatt looked over. Bruce was walking in the front.

The same, yet different.

Bruce was still the same Bruce, unchanged. The only difference was that he was wearing a black bandana, which was Bruce's signature. 

When he is fully devoted to his work, he always likes to wear that headscarf, which is equivalent to a talisman or lucky charm for him.

Seeing the headscarf, Glatt's eyes lit up slightly, and a hint of excitement could be heard in her voice, "Bruce?"

Bruce made an "OK" gesture towards Glatt, "Ready."

No conversation, no explanation.

Bruce immediately entered work mode, jogging to the side of the street, turning around to aim the camera lens at the warehouse door, quickly adjusting parameters, and testing shots from different angles. He then made some more adjustments, fully absorbed in his work.

In a short while, Bruce was ready. He looked at the warehouse again and shouted, like the starting gun of the 100-meter race in the Olympics.

"Anson!"

There was no immediate sound from the warehouse.

Silence.

Complete silence.

But the amazing thing is, this time, neither Bruce nor Glatt was impatient or anxious. Instead, they found a strange peace.

Patiently, they waited -

Rumble.

The sound of wheels rubbing against the ground came closer and closer. A figure broke free from the darkness and ran all the way, like the monsoon over the Pacific Ocean passing through the San Fernando Valley, bringing a burst of green. The gentle breeze lifted the hem of his clothes, lightly bidding farewell to spring and embracing summer.

Anson appeared.

The suit, still the same suit, a standard three-piece suit with a white shirt and a black jacket.

But the styling was another matter.

The jacket was open, all the buttons on the suit and vest were undone, the top three buttons of the shirt were also undone, and even the tie was untied, just casually thrown around the neck like a hanger, fluttering in the wind, as if it could be blown away at any moment. All etiquette and rules were discarded.

Only the shirt was still tucked into the trousers, but one detail was that the belt of the trousers had also been removed, showing the original and simple look of the trousers, so that the waist looked slightly loose, but perfectly matched the state of the upper body, all constraints disappeared.

Sloppy? Messy? Careless?

No.

Dashing. Stylish. Unconventional.

The suit became an accessory, the clothes were just a pile of fabric, all the light gathered on the man, shining brightly.

At first glance, Glatt thought of "La Dolce Vita", in that quiet late night, Marcello Mastroianni and Anita Ekberg drove through the streets of Rome, intoxicated by the wind.

However, the thought only lingered for a moment before Glatt dismissed it.

Because she saw the white skateboard shoes on Anson's feet, replacing the leather shoes, standing on the skateboard, incompatible with the suit, but presenting a strange feeling, a modern and fashionable, a trendy and flamboyant touch, in the year 2000, no one had ever dressed like this.

The jazz melody, with surging drums, surged under the skateboard.

Then, Glatt's mind flashed back to the ending of "The Graduate", where a group of young and confused teenagers boarded the train, fading away into the night. They finally embarked on an unknown journey, to embrace a possibility, maybe happiness, maybe pain, everything was waiting to be discovered.

Light and shadow flowed with that figure.

Eyes. Expression. Body. Vitality surged.

Fourth update.