Charlie Kaufman?
Anson was completely confused. His first instinct was that this was some kind of prank by the paparazzi—that was the only explanation. Why else would Charlie show up at his New York doorstep?
But even if it was a prank, Anson had to give them credit for creativity.
Ingenious!
A smile crept across Anson's face as he opened his apartment door, only to be completely taken aback—there, standing at his door, was the real Charlie Kaufman.
It was actually Charlie!
Along with him was another unfamiliar face, someone with a slightly tense demeanor, chin raised arrogantly, avoiding eye contact with Anson.
"...Charlie?"
Anson was rarely this taken aback and had no idea what was going on.
Charlie, also a bit uneasy, awkwardly shifted his gaze to the side and cleared his throat with a couple of coughs. "Hey, Anson, sorry to drop by unannounced."
"This is definitely a surprise," Anson still didn't quite understand the situation.
Charlie said, "I called your agent, and he said you were on vacation. If we wanted to discuss work, we'd have to wait until next week, but we really can't wait that long. It's urgent, so we decided to come in person. Didn't your agent tell you?"
Anson scratched his head. "I still have a few voicemails I haven't listened to."
Right then—
Beep!
The answering machine in the living room clicked on, and Lucas's voice echoed through the room.
"I'm guessing you won't check the machine, but just in case, I'm letting you know: I'll pick you up at 8 PM. Don't go to the club by yourself—Dad's worried you'll get lost in the East Village all night."
Click.
The call ended.
Anson glanced at Charlie, looking slightly embarrassed. "A family gathering tonight."
Charlie waved it off. "No worries at all. It's our fault for disturbing your vacation. We know how hectic awards season can be."
Indeed, with less than 24 hours before the Oscar nominations were announced, the awards season would soon enter its second phase. From that point on, Anson's schedule would be packed with Academy-related events all the way until the Oscar ceremony in March.
Right now, Anson was simply enjoying the last bit of free time he had to relax.
Yet here was Charlie, taking advantage of this gap to personally visit Anson in New York. It seemed urgent. But if it was about Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, could it really be that pressing? Why did they have to deal with it today or tomorrow?
Thoughts raced through Anson's mind.
He shook them off. "Sorry for my manners, leaving you standing at the door. Please, come in."
Anson stepped aside, gesturing for them to enter.
Charlie turned to the gray-haired middle-aged man behind him, gave a quick nod, and the two of them stepped into Anson's apartment—
It was a duplex.
They walked down a hallway wide enough for three people, straight toward a set of dark brown wooden stairs with steel gray railings leading up to the second floor, where the bedrooms and bathrooms were likely located.
Past the stairs, there was an entire two-story glass wall facing the Hudson River. The navy blue blinds were drawn down two-thirds of the way, casting a grayish light that resembled a flowing river of crystal, moving quietly yet beautifully through the space.
To the left was a massive bookshelf filled with books and vinyl records, the sight of which immediately drew one's attention.
To the right was an open living area, with several plush, deep gray, cream, and black beanbag chairs scattered about. They faced a large projection screen, making it easy to overlook the open kitchen on the right-hand side.
The entire space was spacious yet sleek, minimalist but modern.
There was a captivating and subtle atmosphere to it—both vintage and contemporary, fashionable yet elegant. The air was filled with lazy jazz music, and under the warm yellow lights, you could see glasses of wine and a cheese platter on the table. A black-and-white movie was paused on the large screen, with the light and shadows giving the room a unique charm.
Charlie instantly liked it.
It was similar to what he had imagined Anson's place would look like, but with more pleasant surprises.
Charlie began to take in the details, so much so that he wasn't paying attention to what Anson was saying as they made small talk. Only when he noticed the same awe and curiosity on his companion's face did he snap back to reality.
"Sorry, I wasn't listening at all."
Charlie, always honest in unnecessary moments.
"But I really love your apartment. It's the perfect embodiment of New York."
Anson chuckled. "The interior design was all my dad's doing. Most of the books and vinyls were donations from my mom and brother. The only thing I asked for was the projector. But thanks, anyway."
Charlie burst out laughing, thinking Anson was just being modest.
Ahem.
The sound of a cough came from next to Charlie, reminding him for the third time that he had missed an important introduction. "Apologies, this is Michel Gondry, my friend."
"Oh," Anson said, lifting his chin slightly in recognition. "Director Gondry? So, this is about the Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind script?"
There was no pretense, no small talk, and no attempt to act like he wasn't interested—Anson got straight to the point.
Charlie looked at Michel, with a you should explain expression on his face.
But Michel still wore a constipated look, as if he were working through a thought that just wouldn't come out.
Beep.
The answering machine beeped again.
"Anson, this is Edgar. Charlie Kaufman and Michel Gondry might drop by today or tomorrow to discuss a new project. Don't agree to anything, and you don't have to respond to anything either. I'm working on something with Focus Features."
Click.
The recording ended.
The air grew still.
Anson looked at the two men standing in front of him, spreading his hands with a smile. "Seems like I should probably escort you out now."
Michel looked utterly baffled, clearly not pleased.
But Charlie couldn't hold it in and let out a laugh.
Michel shot Charlie a furious glare.
Charlie, undeterred, glared right back. "Then, why don't you explain it to Anson yourself?"
Michel: …
Anson interjected, "Uh, hello? I'm right here. How about we just talk it out?"
Charlie laughed even harder. "I told you, Anson's a fun guy."
Michel's face turned dark as coal.
Charlie sighed, knowing Michel still hadn't come around.
On one hand, Michel had a preconceived notion—like anyone, once they're set on something, they stick to it, even if other options make more sense.
Michel was convinced about Jim Carrey, and nothing was going to change his mind in the short term.
On the other hand, Michel didn't fully grasp how Hollywood worked. Even though he had been around the industry for years, he had only made one major film, and that was largely done through friendships and favors.
Suddenly, he was faced with Hollywood's profit-driven nature, and it wasn't sitting well with him.
It looked like Charlie would have to be the one to explain it after all.
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