The Best Actor in the Vase of Meiyu

Chapter 1902 A mess

"Is there still vomit on my hair?"

Scarlett looked at Anson, who didn't answer but quietly watched her. Then he reached out and plucked something from Scarlett's hair, calmly hiding his right hand behind his back.

"What."

Scarlett: ? ? ? What kind of blatant lying is this?

Anson, however, changed the subject, "Are you planning to stay at the party or go home?"

On the surface, Scarlett seemed much better after vomiting, briefly regaining her senses and rationality.

But after filming "The Hangover," Anson now has a deeper and more complete understanding of the state of being drunk, and he knows that what he sees is just the surface.

After emptying your stomach, fatigue and drowsiness will quickly overwhelm you. The alcohol hits you hard, and then comes the real drunkenness. You either completely black out, running wild like a runaway horse, but remembering nothing; or you drift off to sleep, and it's not uncommon to find yourself sleeping in a trash can.

If Anson abandons the issue now, the consequences will be unimaginable.

So Anson asked if he could escort Scarlett home if needed.

Scarlett raised her eyes, looking at Anson with a confused and bewildered expression. She squinted slightly, peering through the gap, making it impossible to see her eyes clearly. Even when she was just standing there, she swayed in the wind like a balloon figure at the supermarket entrance, as if she might collapse and lose consciousness at any moment.

Anson chuckled. "If you don't remember where you live, I can help you upstairs. The hotel should still have rooms available."

Scarlett kept her eyes narrowed and staring at Anson. Her mind had completely broken free of its reins and was out of control. As soon as a thought popped into her head, it was already out of her mouth.

"Tomorrow, the whole of Hollywood will be buzzing with rumors."

Scarlett chuckled after making a sarcastic remark, but the smile vanished after only a moment, leaving her with a hint of melancholy.

Without warning, Scarlett spoke up, "Could you help me call my assistant? She has my car keys; I'd like her to take me home."

She didn't want the paparazzi to misunderstand Anson.

Anson was taken aback. Assistant?

Finding someone at tonight's party is like looking for a needle in a haystack, and the waiters probably won't be able to help this time.

Anson had a sudden inspiration and came up with an idea. "Of course, no problem. Let's sit down and wait here for your car keys to come over."

Anson helped the swaying Scarlett sit down on the ground, took out his phone, searched for a moment, and dialed a number.

The call didn't go through immediately, which Anson wasn't surprised about. Tonight was clearly unusual, as all communications were at risk of failure, including Edgar's. This was where the assistant's role became crucial.

Anson remained patient, and just as the call was about to go into voicemail, the phone finally connected, and a slightly surprised voice came from the other end.

"Anson?"

Anson let out a soft breath. "Hey, Brian, it's me."

Brian Lord, co-chairman of Creative Artists and Scarlett's agent, was clearly not expecting Anson to call him. This was probably the first time Anson had dialed his cell phone since joining Creative Artists, and he almost couldn't believe his eyes when he saw the caller ID.

Despite the unexpected turn of events, Brian remained remarkably composed. "Good evening, and congratulations on another huge success on the red carpet tonight."

Anson chuckled. "Thanks. At least the red carpet is still a stronghold." His casual remark drew laughter from the other end of the phone.

“Next time. Next time we’ll head straight for the awards ceremony,” Brian said. Anson didn’t continue the joke. “I called you not because I needed to tattle, but because of Scarlett. Scarlett is drunk, and I was trying to find her assistant to take her home, but apparently, I can’t find Scarlett’s phone right now.”

With just a few words, without needing further explanation, Brian understood.

Actually, the best option at this point would be for Anson to personally take Scarlett home, but the price might be endless paparazzi.

Brian didn't ask for further explanation. In a split second, he demonstrated his decisiveness, without inquiring about the details or digging deeper. He went straight to the solution: "I understand. Give me fifteen minutes to resolve this immediately, okay?"

“Of course,” Anson agreed readily.

Scarlett was already asleep when she hung up the phone.

One second she seemed full of energy and laughing, the next she was fast asleep. She curled up in the shadows below the steps like a stray cat, hugging her knees and arms for warmth, not caring about anything else, but her body still trembled slightly uncontrollably.

Anson sighed softly. He knew that waking Scarlett up now would be useless, because she had already entered a blackout state.

They may have even forgotten everything that just happened.

Now, it's even less likely that Anson will simply ignore it and leave.

So Anson took off his suit jacket and draped it over Scarlett's shoulders; Scarlett instinctively grabbed the jacket and wrapped herself in it, trying to find some warmth in the fabric. She adjusted her position to find a more comfortable spot, and her breathing became steady.

Strangely enough, despite the constant flow of people at the party and the surging noise and excitement in the air, no one paid any attention to Anson and Scarlett.

Slightly tipsy from the alcohol, they let their nerves and thoughts drift into space.

Brian said fifteen minutes, and Anson, of course, wasn't naive enough to believe it was really just fifteen minutes.

In Hollywood, these "times" are just a figure of speech. Besides, the entire Vanity Fair is in high gear tonight, making a final push for the upcoming Oscar nominations. Anson and Kevin Feige have their own things to do, and Brian naturally has his own as well.

If Anson isn't mistaken, Brian and the entire creative team are busy trying to get Scarlett Johansson an Oscar nomination.

Therefore, Anson didn't know how Brian planned to solve the problem, but it would probably take more than fifteen minutes.

Everything was just as Anson had predicted.

By the time Brian appeared, the crowd at the Golden Globe Awards after-party had changed.

Tonight, there are at least thirty parties of all sizes. The Golden Globes are just the biggest. There are countless other parties hosted by top producers, directors, actors, or agents in the industry. People who really know how to party don't stay in one place but move between different parties.

So, at the Golden Globe Awards, one group of people left and another group arrived, the excitement continues, and it's even possible that a new group has already been formed without Anson noticing, and what we're seeing now is probably a third group.

Anson was slightly surprised, not expecting Brian to come in person.

"Where's Scarlett's assistant?" Anson didn't hide his surprise.

Brian waved his hand, "Stop talking, it's a mess."

No words are needed; the unbuttoned shirt, the wrinkled suit jacket, the disheveled hair, and the forehead glistening with sweat say it all.

Clearly, it's a party night, a chaotic night, but who knows who caused trouble this time?

(End of this chapter)