America Tycoon: The Wolf of Showbiz

Shaking his head, Robert turned into the lobby on the first floor; Martin saw him and waved, asking, "How did it go?"

Robert, with a gloomy face, said, "Can't they see that I have a star-sized head just like Stallone, Willis, and Schwarzenegger?"

Martin took a step back, sizing him up and nodding, "In terms of appearance, you're distinctive and can make a strong impression on the audience. Have you seen the trailer for Pirates of the Caribbean? If you were dressed as a pirate, you'd stand out even more than those pirates."

Robert had indeed seen it, and with his hands in his pockets, he said, "Buddy, I have a thick skin; you can say I'm ugly, and I won't mind."

He suddenly remembered something Martin often said and decided to tease him a bit, "But, when you drink Coke in the future..."

Martin was quick on the uptake, "I swear, I'm never drinking from a glass Coke bottle again."

The heaviness lifted from Robert, and he said, "Thanks, pal. I feel much better now."

Martin responded, "Don't mention it; after all, you've helped me."

Robert felt glum again: Would you ever cut it out?

"I might as well be a background artist," he said. "Did you get the results of your audition yet?"

Martin nodded, "I got the notification."

Robert said, "Congratulations." He sighed, "Just one line is so hard."

Martin patted his arm, "I can't help you with this production, but after the shooting, we could stay and do odd jobs for the crew."

To stay with the crew meant that they could come in contact with the main staff and cast.

In truth, while his role seemed substantial on the script, only God knew how much would remain after the final edit.

Even a fleeting shot wouldn't be out of the ordinary.

"Thank you," said Robert. "It's a rare experience."

Jerome hurried over from the other side of the lobby, and seeing the two actors from the troupe, he quickened his pace, "Good news."

Robert, having failed the audition and still counting on the troupe, asked, "Director, have you finalized the collaboration?"

"All set," Jerome stressed, "Deputy Director Martin, you've made an outstanding contribution to the development of the troupe."

Though he was exhilarated to the point of bursting within, he remained nonchalant on the surface with a casual tone, "The crew doesn't need many stand-in actors. After my efforts, they've decided to have Marietta Theatre Company take full responsibility for the extras."

Martin understood that Andrew had pulled some strings.

Jerome planned to use this opportunity to recruit new members as soon as he returned.

Robert looked at Martin in surprise, "You're the deputy director now?"

Jerome patted Robert on the shoulder, "Keep working hard, and later on..."

In his excitement, he almost blurted out about being able to buy a new car afterward.

Martin redirected the conversation to himself, "Director, my role has been confirmed, and the crew told me to negotiate the terms. I don't have experience in this area, and you're the one I trust most."

"It's confirmed already?" Jerome was somewhat surprised but, remembering Martin's loyalty to the troupe, took full charge, "Don't worry, leave it to me. I'll handle the negotiations. However, be prepared for a modest compensation."

Since the crew had come to Atlanta to shoot, cutting costs was the goal; Martin said, "The role is more important than the compensation."

Jerome nodded in agreement, finding Martin increasingly agreeable. This fool might leave Atlanta one day, and if he goes to Los Angeles, just have to give Robert Patrick a heads up; the fool would have his own connections then.

The three of them left Gray Company together. At noon, Jerome generously treated them to lunch, and after the meal, they went back to negotiate Martin's salary with the crew at Gray Company.

Though not a professional agent, Jerome had run the theatre company for years and was no stranger to many Hollywood practices.

As a minor actor and non-union member, Martin's daily wage was only $600.

As for other benefits like food, lodging, transportation allowance, and insurance on set, there were standard provisions from the crew.

The next day, Martin signed an official contract with the crew.

As evening approached, he received a call from Louise, "Handsome, let's go out for drinks."

Martin asked directly, "Where are we going?"

Louise couldn't forget about the new cocktail, "Come to my hotel suite; I've got all the mixing tools."

Martin understood her meaning and first went to the liquor store to buy some base spirits.

When he arrived at the hotel suite, only Louise was there, sitting at the bar with a tequila in front of her, already drinking.

Martin, carrying a box of liquor, moved behind the bar, put Louise's tequila and glass aside, and reminded her, "Drinking too much won't help with mixing drinks."

Louise was surprised, "The new drink, you really haven't perfected it?"

Martin wanted to give this female drunk a sense of participation, a new cocktail born from their hands would leave a deeper impression than any water jug.

He said, "We have the prototype, but the specific recipe still needs to be tested."

Louise also moved behind the bar, pulled out an alcohol wipe to clean her hands, took out the cocktail shaker and jigger, and said, "Then what are we waiting for, let's begin!"

Martin unpacked the box of liquor, laid out each bottle, and asked, "You're more interested in liquor than movies?"

"Movies are work; liquor is a hobby, it's different," Louise's gaze drifted downward, "Liquor is like spiritual nourishment to me, I feel completely relaxed after drinking."

Martin put on a bartender's serious face, "Mixing drinks now, be serious."

Louise grabbed a pair of black-rimmed glasses and put them on, "Let's start."

"My concept for the new drink should include whiskey's flavor, taste strong yet intensely stimulate the taste buds," Martin pointed a finger, gently tapping Louise's prominent nose, "It could heal a drunkard's soul like yours."

He intended to engage Louise's participation, "Which whiskey do you think would be suitable?"

Louise, a standard drunk, only had to think briefly, then said, "Islay peat whiskey." She considered a lot, "For a cocktail to spread widely, price is also key. Lagavulin is too expensive, not suitable; it has to be between Caol Ila and Ardbeg – I suggest Ardbeg."

Martin took out a bottle of Ardbeg, asking, "Why?"

"Are you testing me?" Louise showed off a little, "Of all the whiskeys produced in Islay, Ardbeg not only has a rich smoky flavor but also a faint sweet malt scent, which nicely balances the taste."

Martin poured a small amount of Ardbeg, adding some lemon juice, "The flavor profile is not rich enough."

Louise took it, took a sip, "Too sour."

Martin suggested, "Add a small amount of ginger syrup."

As a common cocktail ingredient, Louise took a little, mixed it in, "The whiskey flavor is too weak."

Martin snapped his fingers, "Blended whiskey."

The two of them tried various common brands, also varying the amounts they added, and after nearly two hours of effort, they finally found the right recipe.

Martin mixed the drink while Louise was quite solemn, even going to the restroom to rinse her mouth and get rid of any lingering taste of alcohol.

When she returned to the bar, the classic glass cup held a pale gold liquid, garnished with lemon and ginger slices.

"Is this our drink?" Louise, full of anticipation, picked it up and slowly took a sip. Smokiness, expansion, and spiciness instantly filled her mouth, as if a cannonball exploded.

But what followed was rich, smooth, sour, and sweet.

The taste was rich, the layers distinct, as if all the sweetness and bitterness of life were fused into it.

Louise took another sip, then handed the rest to Martin.

Martin drank it down, savoring carefully, "How does it feel?"

Louise removed her black-rimmed glasses, looking as if she tasted ambrosia, her face satisfied, "Bitter at first, then sweet, getting stronger as it goes. Once you get used to the expansion and impact it brings, all that follows are rich and beautiful flavors."

Martin conceded defeat, "Female drunkard, are you talking about liquor?"

"What else could I be talking about?" Louise raised her eyebrows, "Don't let your filthy thoughts taint the wonderful drink we've just invented."

Martin couldn't be bothered to argue, "I'll give you the chance to name it."

Louise, however, circled around to the front of the bar, smiling, "I know you're playing mind games, but the temptation to be immortalized in the annals of cocktail history, I just can't resist."

Martin shrugged, "It just healed a female drunkard's soul."

After a moment's thought, Louise said, "Penicillin, we'll call it Penicillin." She took a piece of paper and pen, swiftly wrote down the recipe, "Penicillin in the medical world has saved countless lives; this can heal countless drunkards' souls. I'm going to take it back to Los Angeles and let it really spread."

Martin said, "As one of its creators, you have that right."

"I'm not one of those sloppy people like Harvey Weinstein," Louise suddenly changed the subject, "After your work in the crew is done, I'll give you a comprehensive evaluation and suggestion, it will save you a lot of detours."