Actor in Hollywood

One encore.

Two encores.

Led by Judd Apatow, the members of the Frat Pack, although just small fish in the vast ocean of Hollywood at this point and not yet a tight-knit group, already shared a sense of camaraderie. They egged each other on, enthusiastically cheering, which turned the encore into a full-blown party.

After the encores finally ended, James, Seth, and the others went straight off the stage to thank the audience, merging into the bustling crowd. The scene grew chaotic for a while.

Edgar moved against the flow.

After all, since he was already there and had chosen to stay, he figured he might as well make an appearance, establish his presence, and lay the groundwork for future connections.

Otherwise, how could he justify missing out on his afternoon tea?

Amid the crowd, Edgar's attention was drawn to a short guy who was being squeezed aside by the throngs of people exchanging pleasantries and small talk. The short guy happened to be standing next to the young man who had noticed Edgar earlier. Edgar thought for a moment—

Sam Levine.

Born in 1982, eighteen years old, about 5'4" (166 cm) tall, with an average appearance that was somewhat cute and slightly nerdy.

An actor like this, not typically a Hollywood heartthrob, might never land a leading role, but in fact, such actors are quite popular in Hollywood.

They're the best friend of the protagonist, the sidekick of the villain, or the heroine's good luck charm—essential, though not dazzling.

For an agent, this doesn't mean a meteoric rise to fame but does promise steady income. After all, an agent's earnings come directly from a percentage of their clients' paychecks.

If Edgar remembered correctly, Sam had only appeared in one TV show so far, *Freaks and Geeks,* but still didn't have an agent.

Such roles wouldn't interest the top agents, but Edgar saw an opportunity to start broadening his portfolio.

Supporting actors are always a crucial part of any artistic project.

And besides, Sam was standing next to the guy who had caught Edgar's eye earlier.

Two birds, one stone.

Edgar naturally made his way over to Sam and greeted him.

"Hey, Sam, good afternoon. Your performance today, especially in the scenes with James Franco, showed that you really put some thought into your character."

Telling a white lie—Lesson one in the basic training for agents.

Sam was flattered. "Wow, thank you."

Edgar smiled, nodded to Sam, then turned to the person next to him. "And this is?" Perfect, the conversation shifted seamlessly.

Sam didn't think twice. "Oh, this is Anson, a friend of James."

Anson's eyes gleamed with a hint of a smile as he extended his right hand. "Anson Wood."

At that moment, Edgar finally took a good look at Anson's face—strong and handsome, fresh and sunny. Just a brief encounter was enough to leave a lasting impression. "Edgar Cook."

Edgar could sense something meaningful in Anson's gaze, but Anson didn't say a word. They simply exchanged a knowing look.

This one's sharp, too.

Edgar made a mental note from his first impression.

Then, Edgar turned back to Sam. "Mind if I ask, do you have an agent?"

Sam was slightly taken aback. "No, not yet."

Edgar lifted his chin slightly, a confident smile on his face. "I think we'll be seeing each other again."

As he spoke, he pulled out his business card and handed it over.

Sam took the card, glanced at it, and couldn't hide his surprise and excitement. "Oh, you work at William Morris?"

Without realizing it, Sam gave Edgar another look—

Low-key, reserved, and composed.

In their brief encounter earlier, Sam had thought Edgar was in his thirties. But now, upon closer inspection, he realized Edgar couldn't be more than twenty-five.

Though Edgar's features and skin were youthful, his demeanor was notably composed, almost to the point of seeming older and more seasoned.

At first glance, he was unremarkable—easy to overlook, blending into a crowd without a trace. But a second look revealed subtle differences: brown hair, dark eyes, around 5'7" (175 cm) tall, with a slightly slender build and an unusually warm aura.

Like a piece of warm jade.

Was this guy really an agent?

Sam was uncertain.

Under the scrutiny of Sam's gaze, Edgar remained calm—neither arrogant nor servile, maintaining a steady composure. He nodded slightly and said, "You can contact me anytime."

His self-promotion was brief, to the point, and without desperation. Then, almost as if by coincidence, he smoothly turned his attention to Anson.

"Are you an actor as well? Do you have an agent?"

Edgar felt a slight twinge of nervousness—he assumed Anson must already have an agent.

With looks like his, combined with that poise and charisma, how could someone be navigating Hollywood without representation?

It didn't add up.

Anson... thought about it. He wasn't sure. If he remembered correctly, Darren had mentioned that there was no rush to find an agent and that he'd handle it.

Just as Anson was about to respond, he noticed someone approaching Edgar from behind. Before he could say anything, that person had already slammed into Edgar's shoulder.

The collision was deliberate—forceful and jarring.

Caught off guard, Edgar, who had been focused on Anson, nearly stumbled forward. He barely managed to stop himself, revealing unexpectedly strong core strength for someone who seemed so physically delicate.

Turning around, Edgar was met with the mischievous, nonchalant face of James Franco. Rolling his shoulder joint, James grinned. "You just so happened to knock my shoulder out of place, thanks."

James was all smiles, shaking his head. "No, no, I barely touched you, just brushed against you."

Then, he turned to look at Anson and Sam, spreading his hands. "Or maybe, I just can't control my own strength."

As he spoke, James flexed his bicep playfully.

Sam swallowed nervously, unable to hide his concern. He handed the business card to James. "James, you're talking to an agent from William Morris."

For young actors like Sam, just starting their careers, William Morris represented the pinnacle of the industry—distant and nearly unattainable.

James looked surprised but showed no sign of anxiety or confusion, still laughing and joking around. "Oh, crap, I think I might've said the wrong thing."

"Sorry about that!"

"So, what do I need to do for you to forgive me?"

The words were an apology, but the expression was all in jest.

James had always been a bold character.

Anson watched Edgar, curious to see how he'd respond. Would he seize the chance to strike back hard?

But Edgar didn't seem bothered. He deliberately put on a serious expression and replied, "For instance, you could get me a glass of red wine—if not, beer will do."

The playful banter quickly lightened the mood.

The tension, palpable for a moment, dissolved as quickly as it had come, leaving behind only casual conversation and laughter, with no trace of hostility.

Anson had heard before that life is like a play, and it's all about acting, especially in the world of fame. Now, having arrived in Hollywood, he was getting a firsthand look at what that meant.

James took the business card from Sam, glanced at it, and shook his head repeatedly. "Sam, dear Sam, don't let the name William Morris fool you."

"This guy might just be a scammer."