Capítulo 315: Chapter 316: Ambition
[Chapter 316: Ambition]
It had to be a mistake. How could it possibly be him?
The spoon approached her lips as she weakly opened her mouth. Warm liquid flowed down her throat into her stomach, bringing comfort. But after just a few sips, her stomach churned violently. After a brief dry heave, she felt her body lift once more. Moments later, she found herself hunched over the toilet, the soft thuds on her back pushed her over the edge, and she expelled all the alcohol she had consumed that night.
...
Stepping out of the bathroom, Eric patiently fed the woman a bowl of hangover soup. After wiping the corner of her mouth, he finally stood up.
Famke and Sofia behind him regarded Eric with mixed feelings.
"Eric, you're so thoughtful. I hope my future boyfriend can treat me like this," Sofia openly said as soon as Eric finished his task.
Famke Janssen didn't say anything, but her look at Eric held a touch more warmth than usual.
Eric smiled and wiped his hands with a towel, then said to Sofia Coppola, "Sofia, is it alright if she spends the night here? She has already thrown up all the alcohol, so she definitely won't dirty your bed with more."
Sofia Coppola asked in surprise, "Aren't you taking her back?" After saying this, she remembered there was another woman in the room and instinctively covered her mouth.
Eric explained, "Actually, I haven't seen her for a year. We're not in the kind of relationship you think we are."
"Wow," Sofia Coppola sighed, unsure of how to respond.
Famke Janssen, on the other hand, sighed in relief.
"Well then, let her stay here. I can make do in the guest room for the night," Sofia Coppola quickly suggested.
Eric thanked her. Amid the curious looks from the two women, he grabbed Jennifer Connelly's handbag from the nightstand and pulled out a small address book.
After flipping through it, Eric quickly grabbed the phone on the nightstand and dialed Jennifer Connelly's agent.
"Hello, Jim Lister... This is Eric Williams. Are you in Los Angeles?... Good, tomorrow at ten in the morning, come to Firefly Films headquarters. We need to discuss Jennifer Connelly... Alright, goodbye."
After hanging up, Eric casually flipped through the address book again and quickly found a page that was noticeably different from the others. It looked well-worn with frayed edges, and it clearly held his Beverly Hills mansion's phone number.
Smiling slightly, Eric closed the address book and returned it to the woman's white handbag.
"Famke, we should go," he said, glancing at the sleeping Jennifer Connelly. He then pulled the tall woman beside him, "Famke, let's go."
Sofia Coppola instructed a maid to stay in the room with Jennifer Connelly and followed Eric out: "Aren't you going to play a little longer? It's still early."
"No, by the time I drive back to Malibu, it will be around eleven," Eric replied, glancing at his watch.
The young woman didn't insist further as they walked downstairs. Eric said his goodbyes to Francis Coppola and others before leaving with Famke Janssen.
...
An hour later, after parking in the garage of the mansion, Eric led the woman inside the villa. Pulling at his tie, he finally spoke to her as she curiously surveyed the surroundings, "Sorry, Famke, I hope tonight wasn't too disappointing."
"No, not at all. I thought it was pretty nice," she said with a bright smile. As a relatively unknown model, she would have never dreamed of attending such parties. Seeing Eric walk towards the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the ocean, she followed after him. After a few steps, she couldn't help but exclaim, "This place is so big! It doesn't even feel like a home... Oh, I mean, it doesn't feel like a place people live in; it feels more like a library or museum."
Eric didn't mind the slip of her words. He placed a coffee pot on the round table by the window and then turned off all the lights in the living room.
Suddenly, the surroundings went dark, and Famke jumped, letting out a startled "Hey..."
But soon, her eyes adjusted, and she noticed a soft glow from outside the glass. As she walked to the bed and looked out, the dark sea spread below her, dotted with starlight around a full moon, creating a serene beauty.
"How does it look?" Eric asked softly as he sat down in a space-age chair by the table, pouring coffee for the two of them.
Famke cautiously leaned on the edge of the bed, admiring the night view. She sighed, "It's beautiful. I take back what I said. This is a home. My apartment in Burbank doesn't have a view like this and is disturbed by traffic the entire night."
Eric reclined a little, watching her as she settled into the space-age chair across from him, holding the coffee cup he pushed toward her. He admired the sight of her, still dressed in that rose-red gown, the hem floating as she moved. Without her high heels, her fair feet peeked out subtly under the skirt, her tall frame nestled comfortably in the white, egg-shaped chair, exuding a stunning aura that made Eric feel an urge to capture the moment.
"If you like it, you could stay here," he finally offered after admiring her for a while.
Upon hearing his words, Famke Janssen paused in her movements, an evident flicker of interest crossing her face, but she soon shook her head, "If I stayed here, I wouldn't know how to place myself."
"I remember you saying in the office this afternoon that I was too soft-hearted."
"Huh?"
Eric didn't respond to her confusion and continued, "Seeing Jennifer Connelly again tonight made me regret letting her go last year."
"Ah?"
"Do you know Howard Hughes?" Eric asked.
Famke Janssen tilted her head for a moment, then shook it, "No, I don't."
Eric was momentarily taken aback, recalling that she wasn't American but had moved to the U.S. from the Netherlands as an adult, so it was understandable that she didn't know about Howard Hughes.
Since she wasn't familiar with him, Eric explained, "Howard Hughes was one of the greatest filmmakers in Hollywood, as well as one of the biggest playboys.
His romantic interests nearly spanned all the top female stars in Hollywood during the '30s and '40s. Katharine Hepburn, Bette Davis, Susan Hayward, Gene Tierney, Rita Hayworth, Ava Gardner... Perhaps many of these names are unfamiliar to you, but if you look them up, you'd find that each could easily be hailed as 'the most dazzling' or 'the greatest' star.
There was a magazine report revealing that Howard Hughes had as many as 164 girlfriends at one point, with his escapades spread all across Los Angeles."
Famke listened as Eric narrated Howard Hughes' glamorous life as if telling a tale, his tone gradually filled with admiration and longing, even bordering on obsession. She unconsciously opened her mouth and seized a chance during one of Eric's pauses, "You're not planning to... be like him, are you?"
Eric paused, then responded with fervor, "Why not? In terms of achievement, I've already surpassed what Howard Hughes accomplished at my age, and he inherited his father's fortune; I built my wealth from scratch. In terms of wealth, I definitely plan to be richer; and regarding status, I own Firefly Films, and in a few years, this company will be among the big players in film. So why not?"
"But, but..."
"There's no 'buts' here." Eric waved his hand sharply, "I've decided that as long as it's a woman I like, I will hold on to her tightly, by whatever means."
Famke instinctively shrank back in her seat, "I... I hope I'm not that one."
Eric's tone took on a slightly wicked edge, "What do you think?"
"I... I'm not sure yet," she stammered, confused by his overwhelming declarations.
"Come here," Eric beckoned in a tone that had a hint of persuasion.
At the sound of his voice, Famke instinctively set down her coffee cup and walked toward Eric.
When standing in front of him, she finally realized what was happening. Turning back, she wondered how she had become so compliant. She wanted to step back, but Eric had already wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her into an embrace.
"Take your time to think. Let's just do what we need to do first," Eric whispered in her ear.
Feeling Eric's hands roaming over her, Famke tensed up. Soon, however, she recalled something and said, "Wait, don't ruin the dress!"
No sooner had the words left her lips than the sound of fabric tearing pierced the air.
"I told you, you can't back out now," Eric whispered again, breathing warm air into her ear. Feeling a chill from behind, Famke let out several hurried breaths before forcefully hitting Eric's shoulder, "You jerk, that's forty thousand dollars!"
Still feeling a pang in her heart, she attempted to complain further, but Eric quickly silenced her with his lips.
A series of muffled sounds followed, and the two bodies soon tumbled off the space-age chair. Fortunately, the floor was covered in carpet, so despite her gown being in a tattered state, she didn't feel any discomfort.
...
After a while, Famke felt herself being lifted by Eric's strong arms. He carried her in several steps to the floor-to-ceiling window before pressing her rather roughly against the cool glass. Eric's lips traced her bare back, inching up towards her neck. As he made his way up, she instinctively turned her head, meeting his lips with her own.
Pulling her hips back, he got into position. Once they were ready, Eric released her lips, leaning in to whisper, "Have you made up your mind yet?"
"Hmm? Ah, come on!" she whispered back, still caught up in the moment but eager for him to proceed. Before she could move, her arms were pulled up at the same time and pressed firmly against the glass window.
"Have you made up your mind?" Eric asked softly once more.
"You're such a tyrant," Famke weakly complained while shifting her waist.
Eric showed no signs of relenting. He held both her wrists above her head with one hand and reached down with his other hand and teased her gently, leaning in to whisper again in her ear, "Have you made up your mind?"
"Ugh..." she moaned softly, her fair face pressed against the glass. After holding on for a moment longer, she finally surrendered, "I've made my decision; I'll be your woman, yours."
A satisfied moan echoed throughout the empty hall.
...
She felt soft and comfortable but also very tired. Her eyes resisted the urge to open. But somehow, she sensed there was something she needed to do.
What was it?
Her hazy thoughts occupied her for a moment before she recalled that there was work to be done.
Right, she was shooting a TV series and would be late if she didn't hurry.
Suddenly, she sat up, pulling the thin blanket down, revealing her bare chest. Running her fingers through her hair and rubbing her eyes, Famke Janssen finally got a clear view of her surroundings.
It was a large bedroom with windows on all sides, all wide open. Morning light streamed in, illuminating the space, yet the air was free of the dust that often mingled with sunlight.
Remembering everything from the night before felt surreal, but how could it be a dream?
Oh no, it seemed she had promised something.
Mumbling to herself, she slipped out of bed, realizing she didn't see her clothes anywhere. She rummaged through a small wardrobe nearby, pulling out a shirt that was just about her size. The shirt barely covered her backside, exposing her long legs, which were bare beneath and creating a glimpse of what lay in between as she walked.
Curiously roaming around the bedroom, she noticed the northern view displayed Malibu's urban area, lined with countless small villas that looked a bit... ridiculous.
Well, she didn't quite understand why she felt that way.
Moving to the other side, the sun had risen high, merging seamlessly with the deep blue sea, a breathtaking sight.
After hesitating for a few minutes in the bedroom, she opened the closet again, and with frustration, slammed the closet door shut. "Why are there only shirts? No pants at all!"
Lowering her gaze to her outfit and glancing at the alarm clock on the nightstand revealed it was already eight-thirty.
Driving from here to the filming location on the other side of the Santa Monica Mountains would take at least an hour, which certainly meant she'd be late.
But surely, no one would dare scold her today, would they?
She felt a burst of pride -- her performance might be terrible, yet she had never received a reprimand.
Her constant fear of being scolded seemed linked to someone named Brad Pitt, who often found himself in hot water, despite performing much better than her.
Thinking of him brought a smile to her face for reasons she couldn't quite understand.
Then, she carefully descended the stairs, cautiously peeking into the hall, thinking it would be disastrous if anyone saw her dressed this way.
"Famke, you're awake! Wow," Eric exclaimed, having just finished his workout and fresh from the shower, towel draped around him. He spotted the woman peeking down from the stairs and marveled at the sight, his view of her shape and legs unobstructed from below.
Noticing Eric's leering gaze, Famke sighed in exasperation as she tugged at the hem of her borrowed shirt. "Why are there only shirts in your closet? Not even one pair of pants?"
Eric teased, "It's so I can enjoy moments like this."
"Ugh, jerk," she replied.
"Alright, Famke, I do have a few of Drew's clothes. But they probably won't fit you. You'll have to wear yesterday's costume. I'll fetch it; I think it's still in the car."
"Hurry up, and also, my... underwear."
"Understood," Eric replied as he left. Famke hesitated before gingerly making her way downstairs, still barefoot, meandering around the hall.
Before long, Eric returned, handing her a bag containing clothes and shoes. He pointed toward the bathroom, "You can take a shower, too."
"Thanks," Famke Janssen said as she took the bag. Just as she turned around, she felt a playful slap on her rear end.
"Hey!" she whined, glaring back at him.
"Hurry up," Eric said with no remorse in his tone, grinning as if he were considering another playful slap. Seeing this, Famke swiftly made her escape.
...
In just over ten minutes, they sat together in the dining room, staring at Eric as he read the newspaper while eating breakfast. Famke complained, "We're going to be so late this morning. There's no way we'll get anything filmed now."
"Don't worry, it'll be quick," Eric said, flipping a page of the newspaper without glancing up.
"It takes at least an hour to drive to the set. By the time we arrive, it'll probably be over ten, plus I still need to get my makeup done, set up a scene, and rehearse my lines..." She took a sip of her milk while ranting.
"It won't take that long. At most, we'll be half an hour late."
Famke cast a disdainful glance at Eric, "Hmph, that's easy for you to say. I can't exactly fly there."
Eric finally looked up, "I called a helicopter, which will get you there in less than thirty minutes."
Famke opened her mouth in shock but soon shook her head vigorously, "No, no, that's too flashy! If I did that, everyone would... would..."
"Oh, that's the point," Eric laughed. "It's a way to assert my claim. After this, we'll see who dares to lay their eyes on you."
"You're being unreasonable," Famke faltered for a moment before retorting.
"Alright, baby, what you say goes," Eric replied. "By the way, this afternoon, a real estate agent will come to see you. Didn't you mention yesterday that your Burbank apartment was too noisy? I'll make sure the crew lets you leave early so he can take you to Beverly Hills to pick out a villa. I'll talk to the production team about it."
"I... I can't afford to rent there right now," she protested.
"Just choose one. Whichever one you like is yours, I'll charge it."
"I don't want that."
"Fine, you can get your own furniture. I won't be involved in that."
"I don't want that!" she insisted again.
"By the way, do you need a car? How about a Lamborghini? Hmm... no, that's too ostentatious. I think a Ferrari would suit a woman better," Eric mused and recalled Famke driving a convertible Ferrari against Bond in GoldenEye, thinking it was cool beyond compare. "Yes, let's go with the Ferrari."
"..."
*****
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