Entertainment: Starting as a Succubus, Taking Hollywood by Storm Chapter 662 - 657: Performing Artists and Tennis Beauties

"You're Martin?"

After Jack Nicholson's impassioned tirade, the four-person group dispersed, each going their separate ways.

Robert Downey Jr. wandered off, searching the area.

Nicholson and Leonardo, anwhile, each took a mask from a passing server (referencing the one from Tom Cruise's Eyes Wide Shut) and split up in search of excitent.

Martin found a spot at the bar, ordered a drink, and had just taken a sip when a cheerful and surprised voice called out behind him.

"You're Martin? Martin yers?"

Turning his head, Martin saw a voluptuous, radiant beauty smiling brightly in his direction.

"Aren't you that tennis player? K-Kour..."

When Martin stamred, unable to recall her full na, the woman looked slightly disappointed—but quickly recovered and smiled.

"Martin, I'm Kournikova. Anna Kournikova. Can I have a drink—on you?"

Martin quickly recalled—this was the tennis prodigy with top-tier potential, once hailed as the future ruler of won's tennis for the next decade. But she had diverted her focus toward business and fashion, and ultimately achieved little on the court despite her imnse natural talent.

Still, didn't she get married?

From what other Martin rember, Kournikova tied the knot in 2001 with a Russian-Arican hockey star nad Sergei Fedorov.

Could she have divorced in secret?

Right—Martin recalled hearing that around 2005, she'd been linked to his own "partner" Mutassim (The third son of Gaddafi). Who knows if it was true?

His thoughts didn't slow his actions.

He clapped his hands and said to the bartender, "A drink for the lady—"

Then turned to her, "What would you like?"

"Vodka. Grey Goose Vodka."

"Wow!" Martin exclaid with admiration. He turned to the bartender, "One Grey Goose Vodka."

While the drink was being poured, Kournikova naturally slid into the seat beside Martin.

"Martin, I really didn't expect to see you here. Are you alone tonight?"

"No, I'm with so friends. I didn't think that on my first night here, I'd run into such a lovely lady. That deserves a toast—Cheers!"

"hehe, cheers!"

Kournikova tilted her head back and downed the entire glass in one go—bold and carefree.

Martin tapped the bar, and the bartender imdiately refilled their glasses.

"You here alone too?"

"Yes, needed to clear my head."

"Your husband didn't co with you?" Martin probed.

"We're divorced," Kournikova replied nonchalantly. "Split up last year."

"Then you kept it under wraps pretty well," Martin smiled, relieved—his date for the night was now clear.

"Had no choice. We've still got a few joint endorsent deals that haven't expired yet. We can only go public with the divorce at the end of this year." Her voice hinted at resignation.

Then she smiled brightly. "Let's change the topic—heard you've been filming a sci-fi movie?"

"Yep."

"Is filming movies fun?"

"For , very. To be able to turn the stories in my head into film and letting others see and enjoy them—that gives a real sense of accomplishnt."

"Really? Haha, actually, I've had dreams of becoming an actress since I was little."

...

As their conversation continued, Martin quickly uncovered the girl's intentions.

This tennis beauty had a very clear purpose: she no longer wanted to be just a "flower vase" on the court or in ads. She wanted to be a "flower vase" in movies.

Martin took a sip of his drink and casually assessed the increasingly close Kournikova beside him.

She had just turned 26, the pri of beauty for a Western white woman. Her look strongly resembled another of Martin's "collections"—Britney Spears. Sweet and lovely.

He didn't mind engaging in a bit of exchange.

With the number of films yers Pictures invested in every year, there were always a few minor roles that didn't require much acting—just a pretty face. Like Fast & Furious, for instance. Kournikova could easily play a version of herself in it.

Lowering his guard, Martin subtly began his moves, quickly making her laugh uncontrollably—leaning into him, nearly collapsing into his chest.

Martin seized the mont and gently pulled her in. Her soft, curvaceous body naturally fell against him.

Robert, returning from his stroll, happened to see this scene and felt a wave of envy. Ah, back in the day...

Well, whatever. He was a married man now. What's the point of reminiscing?

Changing course, Donny turned down a hallway—only to spot a few familiar political figures often seen on TV loitering inside, staring excitedly at a large glass display.

Turning to look, his eyes widened.

Inside each glass case was a beautiful woman, gently dancing.

From their movents, it was obvious they had undergone rigorous professional training. So of the faces were even familiar to Robert—they were dancers from famous North Arican troupes once celebrated as "artists."

Now, these "artists" were being displayed like commodities—naked, showcased behind glass, for others to gawk at, stripped of all dignity.

Robert even saw one of them with tears welling up in her eyes—clearly overwheld with humiliation.

But he wasn't so crusader of justice. At most, he felt a bit of sympathy. After a glance, he walked away.