"Anson, are you alright? Are you sure you're okay?"
"Jesus Christ."
"Where are you right now? What happened? Are you still doing okay?"
One question after another, like a machine gun, they came rapid-fire, barely leaving time for Anson to respond before more questions were thrown his way, nearly overwhelming him.
Finally, Anson regained his composure slightly. "I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?"
He took the phone away from his ear and glanced at the caller ID—
Only then did it dawn on him that there was no caller ID, just a phone number. His muddled brain couldn't recall whose number it was.
"Uh, sorry, but who is this?"
One second. Two seconds.
The phone: ...
A wave of speechlessness hit him. It was both ridiculous and funny. He had a curse ready to slip out, but he swallowed it back down, rubbing his temples and letting out a long sigh.
"I'm your brother."
Anson lifted his chin slightly. "Oh, Luca, what's up? Something wrong?"
It would have been better if he hadn't asked; the moment he did, Lucas was immediately infuriated. "Something wrong? Anson Wood, are you seriously asking me what's wrong?"
"Since last night, how many times has Mom called you? You didn't answer any of them, didn't return her messages, and only just now did she call me because she was worried about you."
"And then, when I called, you didn't answer either. God, I almost..."
Lucas trailed off, feeling a wave of fear—
Almost. He nearly blurted it out.
Barely managing to stop himself in time, Lucas bit down hard on his tongue, the taste of blood spreading in his mouth as he struggled to control himself. Afraid of giving himself away, he hastily changed the subject.
"Your agent said you were resting at home, but we couldn't reach you at all. Neither your cell phone nor your landline was being answered. Mom thought you might have passed out at home from drinking too much."
Lucas said it casually, but Anson caught onto it—
Suddenly, Anson remembered how he had time-traveled: the white powder on the toilet lid.
A wave of guilt washed over him. He didn't notice the slight uptick in Lucas' tone when he changed the subject; instead, he was worried about inadvertently revealing something again and quickly tried to steer the conversation away.
"Sorry, I was asleep."
At that moment, Anson glanced back at his phone screen and noticed the seven missed call notifications. The voicemail box was probably full too.
He scratched his head, feeling a bit embarrassed.
"Uh, I was completely out. Sorry."
His nonchalant tone made Lucas choke on his words. All the anger he had built up got stuck in his throat and eventually turned into helplessness and absurdity. Lucas felt his temples throb with frustration.
"You should really get an assistant."
"Huh?" Anson still hadn't fully woken up. His brain wasn't functioning, and he couldn't keep up with the conversation. He had no idea where Lucas was getting this idea from.
Lucas clarified, "I said, you need an assistant."
"You have work, and your rest time is scheduled too. Your agent and publicist can't be with you all the time—they're not your babysitters. You're not good at handling all the little things yourself. You're the kind of guy who could take three hours to get back from buying eggs at the convenience store. You need an assistant to help with the small stuff."
"At the very least, someone to answer your calls, drive you around, organize your wardrobe, and stock your fridge. You can't do all that by yourself."
"Besides, after 'Spider-Man' comes out, you're going to need an assistant to fend off crazed fans and paparazzi. You can't keep wandering around on your own."
Blah, blah, blah.
Anson drooped his head, feeling like his eardrums might start bleeding. He decided it was easier to just agree. "Alright."
But clearly, Lucas wasn't listening. He raised his voice slightly. "Anson, I'm serious. You need an assistant. If you can't afford it, I'll hire one for you."
"Yeah, that's a great idea. I'll handle the interviews and help you pick an assistant. You're not allowed to argue, and don't try to sneak off."
Anson: ... "Okay."
"Anson Wood!"
"Luke, I said okay. I'm sleep-deprived, and my head feels like it's going to split open. Could you slow down a bit?"
Lucas: ... "Sorry."
He quickly admitted his mistake without a second's hesitation.
Pride? What's that? Is it edible?
Lucas softened his tone. "You need to get some proper rest."
"That's why I slept for twelve hours."
"..."
"Haha, sorry, Luke, I didn't mean to blame you. So, why did Mom call me?"
"Are you seriously asking? You asked her two weeks ago about going to Columbus for some inspiration, and you wanted her to check if her friend's studio would be available for you to use. She was calling you back to let you know."
The Columbus he's referring to is a city in Ohio.
For many people, this city isn't well-known and doesn't seem to have much to offer. But in fact, it's quite special and modern, home to fifteen Fortune 1000 companies, all of which are focused on future technology.
So, the city's architectural style is also unique:
Clean, sharp lines and the widespread use of artificial intelligence are key elements, blending a retro and futuristic feel to create a distinct charm.
After finishing filming "Catch Me If You Can," and before diving into the full-on summer promotion for "Spider-Man," Anson originally had about ten days free. He planned to leave Los Angeles and head to Columbus for some peace and quiet, perhaps even finding inspiration for his art among the city's buildings—
Painting helps him calm down.
So, Anson had asked Nora about it.
But even Anson hadn't anticipated how everything would come at him like a tornado, completely derailing his plans. He had entirely forgotten about Columbus.
However...
The overwhelming buzz across North America didn't seem to affect Nora and Lucas much, proving once again that:
The impact of the film industry isn't that far-reaching—not everyone watches movies.
At least, the other members of the Wood family don't. They had no idea how popular Anson had become.
Anson rubbed his temples gently. "Sorry, I totally forgot about that. There's no way I can go now. Even if I did, it would have to be at the end of May."
"Ah, sorry, sorry, Luke. I'll call Mom myself and explain."
Lucas realized Anson's raspy voice was a clear sign he wasn't fully awake. "You should drink some water and then go back to sleep. Since you've already slept for twelve hours, maybe you should get something to eat first?"
Right on cue, Anson's stomach growled.
Lucas actually heard it. "Your stomach is already protesting." He couldn't help but smile as he spoke.
Anson was about to retort when the doorbell rang downstairs. "Luke, did you send Edgar to check up on me? Otherwise, who would be here now?"
Grumbling as he went downstairs, Anson opened the front door to find two middle-aged men in suits and gold-rimmed glasses standing before him.
Anson blinked. "Sorry, I'm a Buddhist."