制霸好莱坞

In Hollywood Star Café, there were three shifts: the morning shift covered breakfast and lunch, with an option to switch after lunch; the midday shift covered lunch and dinner, while the night shift covered dinner and late-night snacks. Since lunch and dinner offered better tipping opportunities, Jenny typically chose the midday shift. However, to have dinner with Dave the next day, she deliberately switched to the morning shift.

Perhaps due to nervousness, Dave didn't show up at the café that day and was even two minutes late for their date. When he finally arrived, he kept apologizing but failed to provide a convincing explanation.

Jenny Jane didn't need one. A glance at Dave's ill-fitted suit and meticulously combed hair told her everything. As someone who had spent years navigating the entertainment industry as a casting director, Dave's awkwardness genuinely surprised her.

"The restaurant you chose is good enough that you don't need to apologize," she teased. "Getting a reservation at Scarpetta alone is worth a kiss."

Scarpetta was an upscale Italian restaurant in Beverly Hills, run by a renowned chef. A single meal could easily cost Jenny two days' wages—more with fine wine. Securing a reservation, especially for a prime window seat, wasn't easy without connections.

Jenny's compliment visibly pleased Dave, making him more confident. Yet, he remained humble and admitted, "Actually, a good friend made the call for me."

Jenny chuckled. "Wow, your friend must be very capable—so that makes you even more impressive for having such a friend."

Inwardly, she thought, That flattery was a bit too obvious.

But for someone like Dave, who lacked confidence and was socially awkward, this kind of encouragement helped. After two compliments, he finally loosened up enough to joke, "If such an impressive person is treating you to dinner, then you must be at the top of the power hierarchy."

Jenny burst into laughter, and Dave laughed along with her. In this relaxed atmosphere, they began ordering.

Jenny hadn't had a proper meal in a long time. The aroma of food was tempting, but when she thought about the foie gras, dessert, and sauce in front of her—plus the calories she'd have to burn—she settled for a salad and dessert. Dave ordered more and even got a bottle of red wine.

"You should eat more," Dave said, pushing the bread basket toward her. "Even for someone who wants to be camera-ready, you're too thin."

"I can only afford what I ordered," Jenny deflected.

Dave's expression changed, but Jenny quickly added, "I know you want to treat me, but that should be a mutual decision, right? If I feel like it, I'll let you pay."

She left it at that, and Dave blushed. Jenny found it curious. "Do you not go on dates often?"

"The last time I dated frequently was seventeen years ago," Dave admitted. He then shared a typical story: high school sweethearts who eventually divorced due to incompatibility. They had no children; his ex-wife got the dog. After the divorce, he spent a few months recovering and only recently decided to re-enter the dating scene.

Nothing unusual. Jenny had already guessed most of it from the faded ring mark on his finger. "Wow, so I should feel honored to be your first date in seventeen years?"

"You're not the first," Dave corrected her, his gaze warm. "But you are the first one who made me feel… like it was a great date."

"What happened before?" Jenny asked, guessing internally: Went out with auditioning actresses… ended badly.

"I don't think I mentioned that I'm a casting associate," Dave said. "Back in New York, I dated a few actresses who had auditioned for me. It didn't go well."

Bingo. That explained why he hadn't mentioned his job before. If Jenny hadn't insisted on splitting the bill, he probably wouldn't have brought it up.

Jenny offered a sympathetic smile. "Not many people separate work from personal life, do they?"

Dave scoffed, "A lot of people think sleeping with a director guarantees a role. But in Hollywood, things aren't that simple. If you only help those who have done you favors, you won't last long as a casting director."

He had a bit of a nerdy vibe—someone who had been devoted to work post-marriage, an honest guy never swayed by Hollywood's glamorous temptations. A professional, and proud of it.

"People oversimplify Hollywood," Jenny changed the topic. "Tell me about your dog. I've always wanted one, but growing up in foster homes with too many kids, there was never space for a pet."

Dave was visibly intrigued and surprised. "I didn't expect that—you seem like someone from a happy family."

They talked about Dave's dog, his childhood (middle-class, strict and distant parents, bullied as the third child in a large family), Jenny's childhood (a broken home, moving through foster care), his marriage, and Jenny's aspirations.

The entire dinner, Jenny never asked about Dave's job, but over dessert, he voluntarily shared his career path—his love for movies, attending USC, realizing he lacked talent, using connections to land a Warner Bros. internship, proving himself, and eventually becoming a senior casting associate.

They enjoyed the conversation. Dave's eyes sparkled throughout—exactly why Jenny ordered dessert. Dessert time was always the most relaxed part of a meal.

When the bill came, Dave insisted on paying. Jenny hesitated for five seconds before smiling and nodding.

Dave nearly cheered—his reaction was that obvious.

After dinner, they walked back, chatting about the films Dave had worked on. Some Jenny hadn't seen, and they agreed to watch them together sometime.

It was a fifteen-block walk to Jenny's apartment, yet they strolled all the way there. At her building, Dave was reluctant to say goodbye, but Jenny smiled and said, "I'm not the kind of girl who invites someone up for coffee on the first date."

To be honest, in the past, she wouldn't even leave room for guys to approach her. In China, where she grew up, women were expected to be reserved—dress up, sit quietly, and wait. If you were too forward, people thought you had no value. But in America, being too reserved meant being ignored. Even the most beautiful women wouldn't get attention unless they made a move. Jenny couldn't change her environment, so she had to adapt to Western social rules.

"Right, you're not," Dave said good-naturedly, extending his hand. Jenny shook it, and he held on a moment too long before reluctantly letting go. "See you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow," Jenny replied, waving as she turned to go upstairs. As she climbed, she mentally calculated how much workout time she had lost.

At the second-floor landing, she noticed Dave still standing below, looking up at her with a hopeful, sincere smile—one that hadn't been there before their dinner.

Jenny felt a twinge of guilt but still smiled and waved again.

The next day, Dave came in for coffee, but Jenny was busy and barely spoke with him. At checkout, she told him, "Just leave a 3% tip—that part goes to others."

In restaurants, 3% of tips typically went to kitchen staff and busboys, with the rest for servers. Dave hesitated. "But—"

"Friends don't tip each other," Jenny smiled.

Dave was so flustered he stuttered, "B-but I—"

That evening, he called, and Jenny checked her schedule before agreeing to a second date in two days—his last night in L.A.

She dressed up more than usual and wore perfume. They had another great time. Again, she didn't mention auditions.

"You know, I'm flying back to New York tomorrow," Dave said as he walked her home, sounding a little downcast.

Jenny sighed with regret. "But you'll be back, right?"

"Yes, probably in two months when the production team forms," he said, trying to sound cheerful. "See you in two months?"

Jenny slipped her arm through his. "See you in two months."

Dave was even more reluctant to say goodbye this time but still didn't get invited inside.

The next day, he didn't show up at Hollywood Star Café. Johnny made some remarks about it, but Jenny just smiled.

She kept dieting, kept waiting—without expectations. Even if nothing came of it, she had enjoyed two lovely nights.

A month later, she fit into a size 2 dress and started researching L.A. theaters.

Six weeks later, her phone rang.

Dave, breathless, said, "Jenny, I need your résumé and photos. Now. Do you have an email? Send it to me ASAP."