"…That's Anson, right?"
"Anson? That Anson? Jesus Christ, how is that possible?"
"Why is he here?"
"Oh my God, he's so charming, ahhh!"
"Even more captivating up close, God, I can barely breathe."
"So, who's that woman? Could Anson be on a date?"
"Wait, Anson likes older women? Does that mean I don't stand a chance? Ugh, this is heartbreaking."
"I can't believe Anson is dating a woman like that! What do I lack? Why won't he date me?"
"Anson actually likes modern art? You'd never guess from his usual demeanor."
Whispers and muttering filled the air.
The buzz was unstoppable.
Inside the gallery, three staff members huddled together, whispering nervously.
Outside the gallery, a small crowd began to form, silently gathering and slowly blocking the view—
Not just by the entrance, but across the street too, where a small group had already started forming. For now, you could count them—less than ten people—but watching them excitedly chatter into their phones, it was clear they were calling friends to join. The situation was starting to get out of hand.
However, Nora and Anson, busy touring the gallery, didn't notice any of it.
"…Ahem, excuse me, sorry to interrupt. Would you like something to drink? We have coffee, soda, and milk."
Carol Bright, pushed forward by her colleagues, stepped up to serve Anson. She felt her voice trembling, her palms sweating, and her knees shaking. Just speaking took all her energy.
Nora turned to Anson, "Did you eat anything on the plane? If not, maybe you shouldn't have coffee on an empty stomach. How about some soda?"
Carol's eyes widened in disbelief—
Were they that close?
Anson nodded slightly, "Soda it is. Oh, and could you warm up some milk for me too?"
Nora asked, "Are you going to hold two drinks?"
Anson replied, "The warm milk is for you. You need to stay hydrated more than I do."
Carol: ??? What is this couple's banter?
Instinctively, Carol nodded and turned to head to the break room.
Nora, amused, called out, "Carol, wait! You don't have to take his orders."
Carol stopped in her tracks, "I don't?"
Confused, she looked at Anson, her eyes full of hope.
Nora… found herself unsure how to respond.
Nora noticed Anson smiling kindly at Carol, "Of course, you should listen to her. She's the boss here. But I bet she won't turn down some warm milk."
Carol nodded, dazed.
Nora noticed Carol's cheeks blushing slightly, unable to believe what she was seeing. She was still not used to moments like these.
Carol looked at Nora.
Nora sighed, "Warm milk, why not?"
Carol nodded obediently, hesitated for a moment, and finally couldn't resist asking, "So, you two know each other?"
Anson nodded slightly, "I'm not sure if she remembers, but we've met a few times over the past six months."
Carol's eyes nearly popped out of her head.
Nora, exasperated, raised her hand and smacked the back of Anson's head.
Anson, "Ouch."
Nora looked at Carol, "Yes, Carol, we know each other. I'm his mother."
Carol: …
Jaw dropped, stunned, frozen in place, like a robot with its CPU fried, bolts, springs, and gears all flying out.
After a long pause, Carol finally blurted out, "Nora Wood… Anson Wood… Oh! Jesus Christ!"
Nora spread her hands, "Yes, that's the same Wood."
Carol, "Oh, crap!" She swore, immediately covering her mouth.
She straightened up, spun around, and fled, not even noticing that she was walking in an awkward, clumsy manner.
Nora shook her head repeatedly, "What on earth are they thinking?"
Anson, "They just want to figure out who my date is."
Nora blinked, her flu-fogged brain finally starting to catch up, "Wait, you? Her? What's going on here?"
Anson calmly replied, "Well, technically, you're my date today. Hey, honestly, how long has it been since Dad took you out for a date night?"
Nora looked at Anson, who still had the energy to joke around, and couldn't help but shake her head in disbelief, "I can't believe what's going on in their heads."
"Welcome to Hollywood," Anson said, completely unfazed, already used to it.
At that moment, Nora finally noticed the small crowd gathering outside the gallery—
About twenty people, standing across the street, craning their necks to peek into the gallery. There was even someone who looked like a paparazzo, lugging a huge camera, aiming its long lens directly at the gallery, ready to capture any moment.
"Mom, I'm sorry," Anson's voice brought Nora back to reality.
"I know you and Dad don't like media attention, but it looks like you've been exposed."
Nora couldn't help but laugh, letting out a small chuckle, "Don't worry, I'm not surprised. Your dad actually expected this when you decided to head to Hollywood. He's even a bit excited about it. 'Anson Wood's father,' he wouldn't mind walking around with that title."
"But what about you? Are you okay? God, they must never leave you alone."
Nora's first instinct was concern.
She hadn't realized how much Anson's life was already fully surrounded by the spotlight. Compared to the Palme d'Or or being number one at the North American box office, this scene was far more direct and impactful.
It wasn't until now that Nora truly understood what being a superstar meant.
But before her worry could spread, she caught the mischievous glint in Anson's eyes. She knew that look on her youngest son all too well. "What are you plotting?"
Anson looked at her with an innocent expression, "Mom, I'm the victim here, okay?"
Nora didn't believe him.
Anson raised his hands in surrender, "I don't want to disrupt my everyday life just because of outside attention. If I start hiding, they win. So, I figure, if they're curious, let them watch. Eventually, they'll get bored."
Nora waited, sensing there was more.
Sure enough.
"And while they're watching, I figured, why not use their attention?"
Nora, "What do you mean?"
Anson didn't answer. Lucas had told him earlier that Nora's latest work project was struggling with some promotion issues and that the art exhibit wasn't getting the expected exposure. Anson thought, maybe he could help a little—
Not with the media.
The photographers outside weren't invited by Anson, but since they were there, he thought, why not take advantage of it?
Nora studied Anson carefully. She wanted to scold him, worried that he might be playing with fire, especially since these media people were no joke. But looking at Anson, clearly eager and full of ideas, she swallowed her words.
After all, no matter what happens, they could always help him deal with the aftermath.
And besides, Anson's such a good kid. How much trouble could he really cause?
Anson brought the conversation back on track, "Don't you think the exhibit layout feels off?"
Nora's focus returned, her tone lifting, "What do you mean?"