Made In Hollywood

The hardships and anxieties of the past year had kept Duke focused solely on his career, never considering anything else. But as Mrs. Leah had once said, back in school, he had plenty of casual girlfriends, so how could he not catch the meaning behind Naomi Watts's words?

As the apartment door slammed shut, Duke and Naomi Watts were already entangled.

"Weren't you asking for water?"

In sync with Duke's movements, Naomi shook off her evening dress onto the floor. Duke cupped her face and looked down at her. "Darling, no water could ever be as delicious as you."

In the midst of speaking, Naomi had already expertly removed his belt, and Duke, without hesitation, scooped the petite woman up in his arms, carrying her through the small living room, kicking open the bedroom door, and then shutting it with his foot.

"Oh..." Naomi's startled cry echoed from the bedroom, followed by heavy breathing.

About an hour later, the flushed blonde emerged from the bedroom, wearing a man's dress shirt. She walked over to the TV cabinet, pulled open a drawer, found a new toothbrush, and went into the bathroom. After filling a cup with water, she placed the toothpaste-covered toothbrush on the edge of the cup and returned to the bedroom.

"Duke, Duke..."

She roused the tipsy and half-asleep Duke, pushing him toward the bathroom. Duke pursed his lips, clearly irritated by the interruption. "Darling, I think I need to sleep."

"Your mouth reeks of alcohol." Naomi handed him the toothbrush, and Duke reluctantly took it, mumbling, "I've never... never drunk this much before."

"It just shows you're far from as calm as you seem."

Picking up her own toothbrush, Naomi glanced sideways at Duke, her blue-green eyes narrowing slightly. "The success of *Speed* has got you pretty excited!"

"Maybe."

Spitting out the foam, Duke stepped under the shower for a quick rinse. After drying off, he wrapped a towel around his waist, sat on a wooden chair, and started inspecting Naomi's rented apartment.

It was a two-bedroom apartment, no more than about 300 square feet. The living room was simply furnished, with just a few sofas, chairs, and a TV stand. This simplicity revealed how she was still struggling in Hollywood.

Feeling more awake after the shower, Duke picked up the clothes scattered across the floor and sorted out his own.

From the bathroom, there were light footsteps. Wrapped in a towel, Naomi saw Duke tidying up his clothes and frowned, "Are you leaving?"

There was a hint of disappointment in her tone.

She walked over to the sofa, crossed her arms, and sat down, staring directly at Duke. "Are you planning to walk home?"

"I'm just straightening my clothes."

Los Angeles wasn't a place where taxis roamed freely. Duke walked over, bent down, pinched her cheek, and gently kissed her forehead. "Sleeping alone doesn't compare to how comfortable it is holding you."

As he spoke, his right hand slipped under Naomi's smooth legs, giving her inner thigh a playful squeeze. Amid her startled cry, he scooped her up again.

"That was just an appetizer," he said with a grin as they turned into the bedroom. "Now comes the main course."

The affairs between men and women were often the best way to release pressure.

The first rays of morning light barely touched the window when Duke opened his eyes right on time, stretching luxuriously. It had been over a year since he'd slept as soundly as he did last night. A combination of good rest and the high quality of their nighttime activities had almost entirely dispelled his past anxieties and insomnia.

He turned his head to check, but the spot beside him was already empty. Grabbing the clothes folded nearby, Duke hastily put them on and walked out of the bedroom. Following the faint sounds, he reached the kitchen door.

"Smells good," he said, leaning against the doorframe and watching her petite figure. "What's for breakfast?"

"Are you hungry?" Naomi turned her head. "Eggs and toast. It'll be ready soon."

"I'll wash up first." Duke nodded and headed to the bathroom on the other side.

After breakfast, Duke and Naomi left the apartment together. From the moment they stepped outside, they instinctively distanced themselves, walking like regular friends, heading toward Naomi's red Ford.

"Where do you want to go? I'll drop you off," she said, opening the door. "Santa Monica?"

Public transport in Los Angeles wasn't great, so after a brief moment of thought, Duke said, "Back to Century City. My car's still there."

The red Ford headed back in the direction they'd come from the previous night, as if everything had returned to the starting point.

"You don't have a boyfriend, do you?"

On the road, Duke broke the silence in the car. Naomi shrugged. "Are you thinking about becoming my boyfriend?"

"Don't tell me you want to be my girlfriend."

Naomi smiled at Duke's words. "Last night was wonderful. I'll admit, I like you."

Duke had only asked out of curiosity. This was Hollywood, one of the most chaotic places in the world when it came to relationships. Both of them were adults and wouldn't take a one-night stand too seriously.

"I have a clause in my contract with Nancy," Naomi continued. "While under contract, I need her permission if I want to date, get engaged, marry, or have kids."

"That's the price of fame," Duke replied casually.

Contracts like that were common in Hollywood. Even big stars had such terms in their agreements.

"Yes, but I still have needs," she glanced at Duke. "And what about you? Your contract doesn't have such restrictions? Nancy would probably freak out if she found out about us."

"No," Duke shook his head. "I don't have the time or energy for a girlfriend."

"You wouldn't..." Naomi first gave him a winning smile, then shook her head. "But you're good at what you do, so you're no beginner. You're not secretly juggling several open relationships, are you?"

"Actually, you're the first woman I've been with in over a year."

As if trying to gauge the truth of his words, Naomi was silent for a moment before seriously saying, "Last night was my first time since coming to America, and it was also the best."

"Thank you," Duke replied politely.

The car slowly pulled into the parking lot from the previous night. Duke opened the door, stepped out, then turned back to say, "Don't worry. I won't mention this to Nancy."

"If..." Naomi hesitated slightly but then looked up at Duke. "If you ever need something, and I happen to need something too..."

Duke shrugged, made a phone gesture, then turned toward his Chevrolet.

This was just the beginning of Duke's dream journey. He wouldn't take the success of *Speed* for granted, nor would he stop striving. He knew he was still a rookie in the director's world, far from mastering techniques and visual language. There was still much to learn and practice. Maintaining a relationship would take too much time and energy—things he couldn't afford right now.

But Hollywood was a high-pressure industry. Duke didn't smoke, didn't drink excessively, and detested drugs and addictive substances. He needed an outlet for stress; otherwise, his past insomnia and anxiety might return. A mutually beneficial relationship that didn't require commitment might be the right solution.

It was like most Hollywood couples—coming together when needed and parting ways when they didn't.

Driving his Chevrolet, Duke headed straight back to Santa Monica, then called Nancy, asking her to help find a suitable rental apartment in Hollywood or Burbank. According to tradition, he needed to live independently.

Once some of the profit shares came in, Duke would not only be able to fully pay off his debts from university, but he'd also have enough to find a decent place. While buying might be a stretch, renting was certainly within reach.

Afterward, Duke went for a run along the seaside boulevard, then returned to his studio on the second floor to start preparing for his next project.

He had to think ahead about everything—scenes, colors, props, camera angles, set design, shots, and actors. It was already July. If he wanted to hit next summer's box office, he, as the director, had to stay ahead of the project's progress.

Duke had also planned out his first phase, which consisted of four movies with a clear explosive style. The first, *Speed*, only destroyed half of Santa Monica. For the second, he wanted to blow up San Francisco and Alcatraz. The third would turn North America's biggest cities, like New York, Washington, and Los Angeles, into a sea of fire, and the fourth would head to Europe, with France as the target.

Then, it would be time to transition. After all, too many explosions would lead to fatigue.

There hadn't been any news from the studios about green-lighting the second movie yet. He was still working on the outlines and templates for the third and fourth. Once the profit shares were in, he could hire a few writers to assist him, another hallmark of Hollywood's assembly-line scriptwriting process.

"Duke..."

A voice called from downstairs. "You've got a phone call."

"Coming..."

Duke replied, rushing out of the studio and down the stairs, picking up the phone.

"Hello, this is Duke Rosenberg..."

Before he could finish, the voice on the other end interrupted him, and Duke exclaimed in surprise, "You're back in L.A.? You want to be my assistant? What about your internship at Chanel? You quit?"