Bab 522: Chapter 522: Butter!
In a dimly lit room, the scent of whiskey mingled with the tang of old wood and the faint trace of cigar smoke, creating an atmosphere thick with camaraderie and impending inebriation. Three men, bound by years of tumultuous friendship, gathered around a scarred wooden table, their faces illuminated sporadically by the flickering light from a lone bulb hanging overhead.
Martin, whose tolerance for alcohol had waned over the years, raised his glass with a shaky hand, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Come on, lads! Drink up! You're both nursing those glasses like newborns!"
Nicholson, the more boisterous of the trio, slammed his glass down, liquid sloshing over the rim. "Tonight, it's just us brothers! No distractions, no women. We drink until the world spins!"
Leo, the quieter one, returned with a third bottle, his hands deftly uncorking it as he poured the golden liquid with a practiced ease. "To nights we'll barely remember," he toasted, a wry smile playing on his lips.
They clinked glasses, each gulp echoing through the room. Nicholson, with a burp that shook the table, leaned in, conspiratorially. "You know, I had this brilliant idea. Gisele's pre-wedding party... Martin and I were supposed to stir up some trouble. And Leo, our dear Leo, was going to sweep her off her feet."
Martin's laughter rang out, slapping his knee. "A plan worthy of our reputation!"
"But alas," Nicholson continued, his voice dripping with mock tragedy, "our dear Leo wasn't even invited to Gisele's bash!"
Leonardo, raising his glass, clinked it against his friends'. "Forget women for tonight. We toast to brotherhood and the chaos we reign!"
Martin took a hearty swig, his voice growing louder with each drink. "Knowing you two reprobates makes life a riot!"
Nicholson followed suit, his voice booming. "To our brotherhood!"
As they continued, the bottles soon emptied, their conversation becoming increasingly slurred and nonsensical.
Leonardo, breaking his earlier vow, suddenly crumpled, tears streaming down his face. "Giselle... she's getting married. I thought... I thought one day I'd go back to her..."
Nicholson, in a drunken attempt at comfort, wrapped an arm around him. "I get it, mate. I had plans too... plans involving Marlon Brando and some special butter from France. But he left us before I could try..."
His own tears merged with Leonardo's, the two men lost in their world of what-could-have-beens.
Martin, standing abruptly, yelled, "Enough! Look at yourselves! We're the ringleaders of chaos, not sniveling heartbroken boys!"
His words, sharp and clear, cut through their melancholy. The mood shifted, and they were once again the troublemakers they prided themselves on being.
"To taking over Washington!" Martin declared, his wild idea fueling their drunken fantasies.
Leonardo, wiping his tears, cheered, "Yes! The Face Gang leading the charge!"
Nicholson, his thoughts muddled by alcohol, mused, "Thought I'd take that butter with me to heaven to find Marlon... Guess I'll stick around a bit longer."
Their laughter and absurd plans filled the room, the night stretching on in a haze of alcohol-fueled bravado.
Morning came, and Martin awoke to find his friends sprawled on the carpet, the remnants of their night scattered around them. In the kitchen, an idea struck him. He found a box of butter and, with a devilish grin, proceeded to enact a prank worthy of their reputations.
Butter applied in the most compromising of places, he left the spoon as evidence in Nicholson's hand. Stepping over his snoring comrades, Martin left, a satisfied smirk on his face. The bond of their brotherhood, as strange and tumultuous as it was, remained unbreakable.
Morning light filtered through the half-drawn curtains of a small, cozy restaurant nestled at the base of a quaint hotel. Martin and Bruce, having enjoyed a hearty breakfast, left in their car, the hum of the engine fading into the bustling city sounds.
Meanwhile, in the apartment building nearby, the calm was shattered by two piercing howls emanating from Leonardo's suite upstairs. The air was thick with confusion and remnants of last night's revelries.
In a haze, Nicholson, eyes bleary and head pounding, noticed the butter smeared on his crotch and roared in disbelief, "Leo! I thought of you as a brother, and you betray me like this?"
Leonardo, still groggy from the night's excesses, stared down in horror at the butter adorning his own backside. "How dare you accuse me, Jack! It's clear you've been itching to experiment with that butter. And to think, you covet my charm!"
Nicholson, with a mix of humor and disdain, retorted, "If you don't slim down, you're on your way to becoming the next Kim Kardashian!"
Their eyes locked in mutual realization - Martin was conspicuously absent. "It's got to be Martin's doing," Leonardo deduced quickly.
"Who else but him would pull such a twisted prank?" Nicholson agreed, a mischievous glint in his eye. "We'll find a way to get back at him."
...
Alexandra, troubled by the discomfort of her heavy chest, had turned to yoga, seeking not just relief but also a transformation in her appearance. She believed a slight reduction wouldn't compromise the quality and effectiveness of her facial exercises.
Recently, she had purchased an art film titled "Sacred Valley." After studying it meticulously, she discovered how yoga could be creatively incorporated into artistic expression. In that context, an ordinary man wouldn't suffice.
Fortunately, Martin was anything but ordinary. His ability to execute complex yoga poses with ease impressed her deeply.
In the tranquility of the apartment, time seemed to stand still. When Alexandra finally spoke, it was with a tone of admiration. "Martin, compared to the male artists in 'Adult Films,' you're in a league of your own."
Martin, devoid of humility, boasted of his prowess. "During 'Zombie Stripper,' Jenna Jameson herself was keen to work with me."
Alexandra, recalling the tabloid stories and having now witnessed his talents firsthand, sincerely complimented him. "Someone like you could easily become a star in Adult film industry."
Martin, basking in the praise, added, "I've been told I could be the next Locke-Sivert."
Their conversation was interrupted by a persistent knocking at the door. Alexandra, hastily wrapping herself in a blanket, peered through the peephole. It was her sister Catherine. Reluctantly, she steeled herself to face her.
Catherine, impatient, threatened to use her key. Alexandra, her anger palpable, flung open the door. "What do you want?"
Catherine, with a mix of curiosity and mischief, attempted to unveil the secrets behind the blanket. "Hiding someone?"
Alexandra evaded her sister's prying hands.
Catherine, seizing the moment, slipped inside and confronted her. "Is it Martin you're hiding?"
"Shut up!" Alexandra snapped, her grip tightening.
Catherine, undeterred, teased, "Why keep silent when the truth is so obvious?"
Martin, now fully dressed, emerged from the bedroom, greeting Catherine casually, "Hello, Catherine."
Catherine, seeing Martin, suppressed her urge to leap at him, settling instead for a restrained, "Long time no see."
Alexandra, attempting to maintain some semblance of control, motioned for her sister to sit.
Catherine, taking a seat yet unable to hide her envy, whispered bitterly, "You always choose these charming men over your own sister."
Alexandra, her voice low yet firm, shot back, "You're talking nonsense. Even at 17, he wouldn't have spared you a second glance."
Catherine, having been raised in a family with its own peculiar dynamics, grasped the implications of Alexandra's words immediately. With a defiant glimmer in her eye, she retorted, "Then I'll just wait until I'm 18."
At that moment, Martin emerged from the bathroom, his demeanor casual yet observant. "It's nearing noon. How about we all go out for lunch?" he suggested, breaking the tension in the room.
Catherine, seizing the opportunity, agreed enthusiastically. "Sounds great."
Alexandra, keen to maintain some semblance of control, hurried to get dressed and apply her makeup. She then ushered Catherine out with a firm hand, her actions betraying a mix of frustration and protectiveness.
Martin, sensing the undercurrents of tension, silently mused on Alexandra's misconceptions about him. He was nothing like Bruce, and he hoped his actions would soon prove that.
The trio found a quaint restaurant nearby, settling into the bustling atmosphere. As they waited for their food, Alexandra contemplated how she should approach Martin, drawing inspiration from the strong heroine in "A Nightmare on Elm Street."
Martin, having gleaned insights from his conversations with Leonardo, anticipated her thoughts. "You've worked with Wes Craven before, haven't you? How was that experience?" he asked, initiating the conversation.
Alexandra, relieved at the question, responded with a quick nod. "It was fantastic. Wes was very protective on set. He made sure I was never wronged. It was a great learning experience."
Martin smiled, his eyes twinkling with a hint of camaraderie. "Wes is a legend, a founding member of our Face Gang. And with your exceptional talent, you'd be perfect for a horror film lead. The genre often favors a certain... aesthetic appeal."
Alexandra, her lips curving into a smile, felt a surge of excitement. She had been around the acting circuit long enough to know the harsh realities, where promises were often forgotten post-shoot. Martin's words, however, seemed genuine.
Martin continued, "Wes is preparing 'A Nightmare on Elm Street'. The lead role is a woman. I'll talk to him about you. We've collaborated well in the past."
Alexandra hesitated, not wanting to seem overeager. "If it's too complicated, it's okay! You dont have to do it."
Martin shook his head, his smile reassuring. "Let me just check with the old gang leader about the project."
He glanced at his watch, pulled out his phone, and dialed Wes Craven then and there. After a brief conversation, he broached the subject of "A Nightmare on Elm Street" and Alexandra's potential involvement.
Wes, after a moment of contemplation, agreed.
Throughout the call, Alexandra's gaze was fixed on Martin, her ice-blue eyes shining with a mixture of admiration and gratitude. She realized that at 23, her career was just beginning. Tying her fate to Martin's, at least for the foreseeable future, seemed like a promising path. And unlike some in the industry, she sensed that Martin was genuine – someone she could part ways with if need be without any trouble.
After their meal, Alexandra took charge once more, driving Catherine away before returning to the apartment with Martin. The day's events had solidified something within her – a sense of trust and a glimpse of a potentially bright future in her acting career.
Status Power Mingguan
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