Boston, Hilton Garden Inn.
Inside the luxury suite, Alexandra Daddario grabbed a bottle of wine and three glasses, placing them on the bar counter.
Martin asked in surprise, "Is soone else coming?"
Alexandra's icy blue eyes turned towards him, looking like a Husky waiting for a reward, just short of wagging its tail, "You know I can't hold my liquor; after a few drinks I get drunk, so I intentionally invited soone over to drink with you."
Martin imdiately guessed who it was and asked, "You didn't invite Catherine, did you?"
"Is it not okay for us sisters to join you for drinks and fun?" Alexandra sounded sowhat strange, "Catherine and I are blood sisters from the sa mother."
Martin always stuck to his principles and politely responded, "It would be my honor."
Alexandra picked up her smartphone and dialed a number, saying directly, "Co over."
A few minutes later, soone knocked on the door from outside. Alexandra went to open it, and Catherine Daddario entered the room, dressed in a white miniskirt.
The two sisters, one in black and the other in white, bore a six to seven parts resemblance in appearance. Martin glanced over and always felt a very special sensation.
He took the wine bottle, poured the drinks into three glasses, and said, "Catherine, welco to Boston."
Catherine sat across from Martin and clinked glasses with him, "I rember when I first t you, I was only 16." There was an implication in her words, "Ti flies; I'm already 20."
Alexandra knew Martin's character and boundaries, cursing her little sister internally but also raised her glass to clink with him, "Let's all have a drink together."
Martin finished his drink and poured another.
Alexandra took out so nuts that had been prepared during the day from a cabinet behind the bar and put them on a porcelain dish in front of Martin.
Catherine secretly curled her lip, took out her iPhone, opened Twitter, placed it on the bar, and said, "I tweeted our dinner selfie from last night, and so many people are envious. You should see their replies; they're quite interesting."
Martin looked down at the phone but didn't see any interesting replies.
Catherine's finger slipped, seemingly by accident, and opened Apple's cloud service, revealing a string of her selfies on the phone screen.
Most of these photos were of Catherine post-shower or while changing clothes.
The photos obviously had been selected carefully, very tantalizing.
They could have been taken just last night or even today.
"Oops, my mistake, opened the wrong thing," Catherine winked at Martin without a hint of embarrassnt, her fingers swiping across the screen, and quickly switched back to the Twitter interface.
Alexandra saw everything clearly and thought to herself that she had never realized how seductive her sister could be.
She deliberately said, "Be careful. If these photos are stored online, they could be stolen by hackers."
Catherine was unconcerned, "Apple's cloud service is very secure."
Suddenly, Martin rembered sothing and remarked, "It's better not to upload such things to cloud storage like this; they are easily leaked."
Catherine imdiately showed a different attitude, opened her cloud drive generously, and handed it to Martin, "I'm not very good at this, can you help delete them?"
The cloud storage was full of photos and videos that could cause a scandal if they leaked.
Before Martin could stretch out his hand, Alexandra snatched the phone, saying, "I'll delete them for you."
Catherine tried to grab the phone back, "I can delete them myself."
Alexandra held onto it and started watching a video—it was of Catherine comforting herself.
She realized her sister was no ordinary flirt!
As the two sisters looked like they were about to start fighting, Martin handed the wine bottle with its tightly screwed cap to Catherine across from him and pushed a folding stool towards Alexandra, saying, "I'll be the referee."
Catherine and Alexandra imdiately stopped confronting each other and glared at Martin hungrily, like starving tigresses ready to pounce at any mont.
Martin raised his glass, "Co on, let's drink to our acquaintance and the wonderful night we can share."
They each took their glasses and clinked with Martin.
The more they drank, the warr the atmosphere got until they were huddled together, having finished the bottle of wine.
Catherine took out so dice she had prepared earlier, and they took turns rolling. The person with the lowest number had to remove an article of clothing.
It didn't take long for the ga to return to a prival society.
Naturally, it beca the soundtrack of a prival society.
The next morning, Martin got up on ti and headed to the studio to shoot.
Alexandra didn't have to shoot until the afternoon, so she didn't need to get up early.
Catherine got up, leaned on her sister's shoulder, and said with sympathy, "You've got it tough."
Alexandra pushed her away, "Stop talking nonsense, I'm enjoying this relationship."
"Yeah right, weren't you the one pleading for rcy?" Catherine, having experienced it firsthand, spoke so truths, "Given Martin's character, even if he doesn't cheat after marriage, his wife would still divorce him."
Alexandra didn't understand, "Why?"
Catherine replied, "Who could handle soone like that!"
Alexandra pulled Catherine up, "Let's go, have breakfast, then we'll go shopping."
After washing up, they had breakfast in the restaurant and headed to the central business district of Boston together.
The sisters, who usually loved to bicker secretly, suddenly beca closer, feeling as if their psychological distance had narrowed significantly.
…
```
In the photography studio set up to resemble a living room, Martin, clad in slippers and a shirt, sat on the sofa with a can of beer in hand, staring blankly ahead, his expression one of reminiscing about the past.
This was also a scene about mories.
The main character had once been a promising young athlete but had fallen into a life of bank robbery due to family issues and various other circumstances.
According to the book, it was sowhat like carrying on a family business.
"Cut, we've got it," Villeneuve called out.
Shaking his head, Martin let go of his beer can, stepped out of character, and approached the monitor alongside Villeneuve to review the shot takes.
Villeneuve played several discarded takes as well as the final one that had been approved, ticulously pointing out the differences to Martin.
Martin listened attentively, asking questions whenever he didn't understand sothing.
After discussing the shots, Villeneuve said, "Next up is Doug's happiest mory. It involves a Steadicam shot, do you understand?"
"I've seen others use it," Martin said.
He wouldn't touch those substances himself, but he was in Hollywood, where their use was all too common.
"The prop we've prepared is powdered vitamin B," said Villeneuve.
Martin nodded, "Okay."
"We'll start shooting in ten minutes," Villeneuve announced.
Martin headed to the actors' relaxation area, and Bruce followed him, saying, "You got a text just now."
Taking his phone, Martin glanced at it and saw that it was a ssage from Blake Lively. She was concerned that Martin might be filming, so she hadn't called.
"I'll be joining the set next week to start filming."
"Welco," Martin replied.
There had been two major female roles in the production and, during the filming of "John Wick," Martin had obtained the rights to "Prince of Thieves" and had already arranged for Alexandra to audition for the lead female role.
Alexandra passed the production's audition with flying colors and landed the role.
Aware of the situation sowhat belatedly, Blake Lively noticed there was a casting call for female actors in "Thieves of the City," by then only a secondary female role was left.
That was the sister of Jas Coughlin, played by Jeremy Renner.
Although Blake was now quite famous, she was facing a transition. She was already twenty-five and knew the ti was running out for playing teenage idol types of roles.
Her situation was sowhat better now than before, at least she hadn't appeared in "Green Lantern."
Blake quickly texted back, "Is your room free? I don't want a separate room, I'll just move into yours when I get there."
After thinking for a mont, Martin replied, "If you don't mind it being a little crowded, that's fine."
"I'm very sad, I feel like crying," Blake continued, "I could have enjoyed my own space, and now I have to share with soone..."
Martin decided to end the conversation: "I'm on set, let's talk when you arrive."
He handed his phone to Bruce.
On the set, the crew was busy changing the background and furniture, restoring the room to its forr appearance.
The backdrop was removed, the low table switched from glass to wood, and the LCD TV replaced with an old boxy one.
Two prop masters were preparing the crucial props for the scene.
Payne brought two bottles of prop liquor, placed them on the wooden low table, then went back to the prop area to check in with his colleague Brandon, "Did you get the vitamins ready?"
Brandon sniffled, "I ground it into powder this morning."
"Be sure not to mix up the main actor's stuff; it could cause a big headache," Payne cautioned.
"Relax, it's all set," Brandon said, picking up the prop bag.
Payne patted him on the back, "Just don't confuse it with your own."
"How could I?" Brandon sniffled again.
Payne didn't elaborate, knowing well that Hollywood was full of people with addictions like Brandon's.
Payne continued with his own tasks.
Upon opening the prop bag, Brandon saw a pile of small plastic bags filled with powder. The sight of them turned his eyes bloodshot, his limbs trembled slightly, and his nose twitched continually—his mind was becoming foggy.
He grabbed a plastic bag, clutched it in his hand, then quickly put it back down, nervously glancing around.
In Hollywood, people like him were common, but having an episode on set was taboo. Causing trouble for the production like Heath Ledger could lead to being blacklisted by nurous production companies.
"Where are the vitamins?" an assistant director called out from outside, "What's the prop departnt doing?"
Hurriedly, Brandon grabbed a bag and the prop bag, ran out clutching the plastic bag, and said, "Coming, I've got it."
He rushed to the sofa, placed the plastic bag into the tal box on the low table.
The assistant director noticed Brandon's odd expression and asked, "What's wrong?"
"Might be my allergies acting up," Brandon gave a casual excuse.
Stepping out onto the set, he scratched his head, as if he had forgotten sothing. But an itch as though he was being clawed all over made it hard for him to rember what it was.
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