Chapter 70: The Circus Performance**

chapter 69 lost in creation

Work in the entertainment industry is unpredictable. It's not just actors, but also directors, screenwriters, photographers, lighting technicians, and so on:

A single project or job might require several months of intense work and bring in a substantial paycheck. But afterward, there could be a long period of downtime, with no certainty about when the next job will come along—or whether the last paycheck will be enough to sustain you until the next opportunity arises.

As a result...

In Hollywood, many actors—even those who have starred in movies and have recognizable names—have had to switch careers to make ends meet.

Surprisingly, a large number of them have chosen to become... real estate agents, specializing in recommending luxury homes to Hollywood celebrities.

Could this be considered an ecological extension of the entertainment industry?

After the filming of "Friends" wrapped up, and with no immediate work lined up, Anson slipped into rest/vacation mode, sleeping in until he naturally woke up.

It felt a bit unfamiliar since he had long been accustomed to a nonstop, busy lifestyle, making sleeping in a luxury. But Anson thought—

He could probably get used to this kind of life.

He got up, washed, and went downstairs.

Scanning the living room, he only saw James sitting cross-legged in front of the TV, playing video games, with his scruffy beard making him look like a wild man.

Anson asked, "Where are the guests?"

James replied, "In the garden."

Anson responded with a "Thanks."

James paused his game and turned around to shout at Anson, "Anson, be careful. Don't get easily fooled by these guys' sweet talk. If you need me, I'm right here."

Anson's lips curled into a smile. "I noticed the baseball bat."

James patted the baseball bat beside him and joked, "Trust me, I can hit a home run anytime. I'm a baseball genius."

Anson grinned back, "I've taken note and will pass it on to the Dodgers' scouts."

As they spoke, Anson pushed open the west side door of the hall and stepped into the garden.

This villa's design was slightly different. The garden and the front yard weren't situated at opposite ends of the main house. The front yard was on the south side, and the garden on the west side. The two spaces connected to form a ninety-degree green wall that surrounded the main house, with the shade from the front yard extending to cover the garden.

Because of this, the garden didn't have tall trees but was instead filled with lilacs, shrubs, and flowers—a true little garden. It not only had lounge chairs and a round table but also a barbecue grill, making it an ideal spot for summer evening gatherings, where grilling meat and drinking beer would be an absolute pleasure.

Pushing open the side door, the small garden came into full view, and at a glance, Edgar—looking utterly flustered—was spotted.

In the garden, there was only a beach chair.

Typically, they came here to relax, whether to sunbathe on a lazy afternoon or to throw a party on a cloudless night.

Naturally, the beach chair was the best piece of furniture, but clearly, this was not a place for business.

James had arranged for Edgar to wait in the garden with some ulterior motive in mind.

Edgar sat on the chair, a bit nervous and uneasy. At first, it was manageable, but as time passed without any sign of Anson, his initial relaxation gave way to growing tension. He tried to ease his nerves, adjusting his posture, searching for a comfortable position.

He leaned back slightly, belatedly realizing that the backrest had fully reclined, leaving no support behind him. Trying to regain his balance using his core muscles was too late. With a sudden backward lean, the chair tipped over, and he nearly sprawled out on his back.

Just barely, he managed to avoid lying flat on the ground, awkwardly propping himself up with his elbows.

And then, Edgar saw Anson.

"Ah, sorry," Edgar stammered, flustered and embarrassed, trying to scramble back up. But the more he rushed, the more chaotic it became, his hands and feet flailing helplessly in the air like an overturned beetle, his face flushed, and sweat beading on his forehead, but still unable to right himself.

This…

Anson, equally surprised, hadn't even had a chance to greet Edgar before this acrobatic display unfolded before him.

As the host, it seemed awkward to let the guest perform a show.

Seeing Edgar about to tumble off the chair, Anson hurried over and extended his right hand to help.

Edgar quickly grabbed Anson's hand, finding his balance before hitting the ground, narrowly avoiding a complete disaster.

Uh…

With a quick squat and rise, Edgar stood up, offering a smile, and extended his right hand again, pretending to be calm as he prepared to greet Anson.

"Edgar Cook," he began, but before he could finish, a sudden rush of blood made his head spin, and he wobbled, nearly falling backward again.

Anson, shocked, watched as Edgar's figure swayed and quickly extended his hand to catch him.

But this time, Edgar flailed his arms like an octopus, and after a delayed reaction, he managed to regain his balance, taking a few shaky steps back but finally standing steady, as if he had just discovered gravity.

Lifting his head, Edgar, panting, looked at Anson's outstretched hand and said, "It seems not becoming a figure skater was a wise choice."

This…

But upon reflection, the recent chaotic scene did indeed resemble a failed figure skating performance.

Anson's smile broadened fully. "Well, welcome to show business," he joked, instantly easing the tension.

Edgar let out a long sigh, wiped the genuine sweat from his brow, and said, "So, I guess we should start over."

Clearing his throat, he straightened his posture and formally extended his right hand again, "Edgar Cook."

Despite the awkwardness, the embarrassment, and the struggle, Edgar, surprisingly, had regained his composure when he extended his hand again, showing no signs of nervousness from the earlier mishap.

His eyes revealed confidence and determination.

Interesting.

This second meeting further confirmed Anson's impression of Edgar.

Anson extended his hand too, formally shaking hands, "Anson Wood."

Then, Edgar pulled out a business card from his pocket and handed it over. "I'm an agent from William Morris."

Anson paused slightly—he remembered Edgar, of course; he also remembered that he had already accepted Edgar's business card. That night's incident had left a lasting impression.

But today, Edgar was reintroducing himself and handing over his business card as if it were their first meeting?

Thoughts quickly flashed through Anson's mind.

He took the card and got straight to the point, "Captain Cook, right? I remember you. This isn't the first time you've given me your card."

Edgar's expression relaxed, "Oh, you remember me."

Anson looked carefully at the card again, "Of course. You said to call you if needed, but I don't recall ever giving you a call."

Straight to the point.

First update.