Actor in Hollywood

"Ah... disaster, it was a disaster..."

Chris lifted his head slightly, trying to find Anson, but failed. He squirmed like an "Alien" about to burst out of a chest, finally managing to flip over and crawl across the floor like a caterpillar. Huffing and puffing, he wormed his way into the living room, where he rolled and tumbled.

With a thud, Chris flopped into the ginger-colored sofa, burying his face as if he were trying to smother himself.

To be honest, Anson found it a bit amusing—

The original Anson had no special feelings about it, which was normal. But Anson, whose soul had returned from 2023, couldn't help but compare the image of Captain America in his mind with this yet-to-emerge caterpillar before him. The visual and mental impact was overwhelming, even more so than the audition earlier.

After all, whether it was David Crane or Darren Star, they were both behind-the-scenes figures—names as familiar as thunder but with faces that were utterly unknown.

The year 2000 was turning out to be more interesting than expected—

The future Captain America was still an unknown nobody, not even having truly started his acting career.

Encouraged by his high school drama teacher and fully supported by his parents, Chris had dropped out of high school to pursue his dreams in New York.

While completing his acting courses at the drama school, he also took the advice of a friend and interned at a casting agency, beginning to audition for roles.

However, nearly two years had passed, and Chris still hadn't landed any acting opportunities. So, he packed his bags and ventured to Los Angeles.

In two months, Chris would turn nineteen, yet his acting career remained a distant fantasy. It was no surprise that a teenager like him would be a bit disheartened, exuding an air of melancholy, while still retaining that awkward teenage awkwardness that was both endearing and amusing.

Anson's lips curled up slightly. "If you're trying to suffocate yourself, you might need to try a little harder."

Chris clasped his hands at his sides and used his core strength to lift his head slightly, only to slump back into the sofa cushions.

"Ugh!"

With a thud from the springs, Chris let out a muffled groan. "So, how was your audition?"

Anson thought carefully. How should he answer—

That the result was certain even before the audition began, with a hundred percent success rate?

That the outcome of the audition was still uncertain, but the soul inside this body had been swapped?

Chris, not hearing a response, assumed that Anson's audition hadn't gone well either. He forced himself to lift his head and sighed. "Was it Laura or Natalie who interviewed you?"

For TV shows and movie auditions, there were typically two types: one conducted by the production company and another by professional casting agencies, with the latter being more common.

So, even if the audition was for different projects, actors often saw the same group of interviewers, who became familiar faces over time.

Of course, this was just the basic scenario; there were other methods that couldn't be generalized.

Anson was puzzled. "I don't know anyone named Laura or Natalie."

Chris's voice was muffled as it came from the sofa. "They're the toughest to deal with. It's the worst."

Anson blinked. "The one who interviewed me was David."

David Crane.

Chris didn't think much of it and let out a long sigh. "Jesus Christ, that's good to hear. I really hope you get some good news. Honestly, I don't want to see Laura or Natalie's faces again. Have all the shows' auditions been outsourced to their company now?"

The gates of Hollywood were slowly opening before them, a mysterious world they had only heard about but never seen.

Anson was curious. "What show did you audition for?"

"CBS," Chris replied, tilting his head like a dejected teddy bear. "But it mainly depends on the production company; the network usually doesn't interfere with casting."

Whoosh.

Chris let out a long breath, melting into the sofa like a scoop of ice cream. "I'm not going to the play this afternoon. Can you let James know?"

"Play?" Anson was still not fully in character; digesting eighteen years of memories in a short period was no easy task.

Chris didn't notice Anson's odd behavior, completely immersed in his own frustration. "James' play, at three this afternoon. We agreed to go and support him."

James Franco—roommate number two.

Unlike Chris, James was a free-spirited and arrogant young man. From high school to college, he had seized countless opportunities and tried various paths. Ultimately, after his freshman year, he defied his parents' wishes, dropped out of UCLA, and pursued a career as a professional actor.

Soon to turn twenty-two, James had been struggling in Hollywood for several years. Last year, he landed a co-starring role in NBC's series *Freaks and Geeks,* alongside Seth Rogen and Jason Segel, which started to give his career some momentum.

Years later, *Freaks and Geeks* would unexpectedly gain cult status, widely praised as a perfect comedy encapsulating the memories of the 1980s. However, at the time of its airing, the show was criticized for its erratic broadcast schedule and lack of a coherent narrative. After just twelve episodes, NBC pulled the plug.

For James, it was a setback, but one he didn't seem to mind.

On one hand, he accepted a villainous role in the teen romance film *Whatever It Takes*; on the other, he and Seth Rogen were working on an experimental play.

This afternoon, that play was set to premiere.

As roommates, they were naturally invited.

Anson glanced at Chris. "Are you sure?"

Chris: Snore, snore.

Anson couldn't help but chuckle. "Chris, I'm sorry today didn't go well for you…"

Chris, "You don't sound sorry at all."

—If you knew you were going to be Captain America one day, you wouldn't be sorry either.

But clearly, Anson wasn't about to spoil that for him. "You should think about it. James and Seth's play—they're sure to have their agents involved."

"Maybe they've invited the media; maybe they've invited producers, casting directors, other actors; maybe there's an opportunity there."

Chris rolled his eyes and gave a plastic smile in response.

Anson was serious—

And even if nothing happened, it would be interesting to see what kind of work James and Seth—two future creative powerhouses—had cooked up. Would it be something like *Pineapple Express*? Or *This Is the End*?

"Chris, it'll be fun."

"No, it won't. It'll just be a bunch of sycophants gathering to flatter each other."

"That's what makes it fun."

Chris was stunned by Anson's response, then saw him say, with a straight face, "Honestly, where else can you see a group of glamorous jerks gathering together to fake enthusiasm for Hollywood clichés? They'll be bored to death but still forced to stand up and applaud, pretending to enjoy themselves. We can watch the show from the sidelines."

Chris couldn't help but laugh out loud. "Haha, Anson, you've gone bad."

Anson shrugged lightly. "About time, don't you think?"

Chris continued to roll around on the sofa, struggling—

Bang.

He lost his balance and tumbled off.

But with a quick kip-up, Chris was on his feet, jumping three feet high with a nonchalant expression, pretending nothing had happened.

"So, what should we wear to the play?"

"Bikini."

"...Get lost."

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