Silence. Hesitation. Tension.
Reese didn't speak, nor did Anson push her. The brief quiet stretched between them.
Finally, it was Reese who broke the stalemate.
"Are you always this confident?"
A similar question—this was the second time.
Anson smiled. "Welcome to Hollywood."
In Hollywood, is anyone not self-absorbed? Or, to put it another way, narcissism is practically a prerequisite to find your place in this vanity fair.
Anson looked at Reese, then steered the conversation back on track.
"I thought you might understand my position."
Reese Witherspoon: a child star who appeared on the big screen at 15. But this blonde actress kept a clear head. Instead of plunging headlong into Hollywood's glamorous whirlpool, she stepped back when admitted to Stanford University, prioritizing her education.
It wasn't until her junior and senior years of college that Reese gradually returned to acting. In 1999, she broke through with Election, a satirical comedy that earned her a Golden Globe nomination for Best Actress in a Comedy or Musical.
Then came 2001's Legally Blonde, a career-defining moment. In the film, she portrayed a pink-clad Barbie-like blonde who shatters stereotypes at Harvard Law School.
That role solidified Reese's image as America's sweetheart.
Like Anson, Reese had once guest-starred on Friends. Her dazzling performance garnered applause, though she also experienced friction with Jennifer Aniston for different reasons—a comedic twist of fate connecting their paths.
But their true similarities lay elsewhere.
In Legally Blonde, Reese's character defies the dumb blonde stereotype. Yet ironically, in real life, Reese still found herself boxed in as a "blonde bombshell" or "America's sweetheart," restricting her opportunities for diverse roles.
She was determined to break free.
Reese understood that continuing to capitalize solely on her blonde image had its limits. She'd never surpass the iconic allure of Marilyn Monroe or Kim Basinger, nor the quintessential charm of Meg Ryan or Julia Roberts. Her career would eventually hit a dead end.
Over the past year or two, Reese received a flood of offers, yet they all fell into the same repetitive mold: blonde, romantic comedy roles. It left her frustrated.
She had her husband Ryan's career to worry about, and now her own stagnation added to her stress.
Exhausted.
Then came the script for Walk the Line.
Unlike Johnny Cash's dark and complex character, June Carter was a vibrant, positive role that allowed room for nuanced interpretation.
Reese jumped at the chance to play her.
But her co-star would be Anson?
Reese, married to a "pretty-boy," knew all too well the damage that perceptions of "pretty X pretty" could cause. Preconceived notions could amplify prejudice against them by threefold or more.
Looking at Anson, Reese couldn't help but think of Ryan—a connection she deeply resented admitting.
Meeting Anson's gaze, Reese exhaled softly.
"I get it. I completely understand—maybe not 100%, but at least 99%."
Even now, Reese managed a wry joke, her tone lighthearted.
"But precisely because I understand, I'm even more resistant to this collaboration."
"The way people see you is how they'll see me."
"Before the film even premieres, audiences will have already dismissed it. Either they'll assume it's a worthless, trashy movie and never bother to watch it, or they'll expect a lighthearted romantic comedy. And when they realize it's not, they'll be furious."
"Either way, the film suffers."
"Critics are the same."
"Prejudices will cloud their judgment before they even step into the theater. No matter how hard you or I work, they won't appreciate our performances. They'll see us as a circus act—a joke."
"I don't want this film to be a joke."
Reese was smart. Her career choices spoke volumes about her foresight. Later, she would reshape her career by becoming a producer, crafting roles that better suited her aspirations.
She earned a second Oscar nomination for Wild, a project she championed from acquiring the book rights to overseeing its production.
Through shows like Big Little Lies and The Morning Show, Reese built a new legacy, becoming one of Hollywood's most powerful middle-generation actresses, arguably surpassing peers like Nicole Kidman and Jennifer Aniston.
She was no blonde bimbo.
Hollywood isn't short of clever people, but few climb to the top of the pyramid.
In a way, what Lucas was doing for Anson mirrored Reese's future trajectory.
Back in the present.
Anson raised his chin slightly, a contemplative expression crossing his face.
"So, you lack confidence."
Reese frowned. "What do you mean?"
Anson shrugged. "You lack confidence."
"You don't believe you can break stereotypes. You don't trust the audience will listen. You don't think your performance can breathe life into the role and win over critics."
"Oh, sorry—I'm not blaming you. After all, not everyone is Kate Winslet."
Reese's expression froze. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Anson replied nonchalantly, "Earlier this year, I worked with Kate on a romantic comedy. She never worried about the audience rejecting our pairing or critics tearing us apart."
Smart people think ahead—but sometimes they overthink.
Reese's words caught in her throat. "Kate isn't—no, stop changing the subject. This project is different."
Clearly flustered, Reese's argument faltered.
For once, Anson didn't press his advantage. "Maybe. Maybe you're right. Maybe your fears will come true. But you haven't given up."
"So, are you here to convince me to leave the project?"
"Sorry, you know that's not going to happen."
"So what's your real purpose? I don't believe you've been following me for days on pure impulse."
"Come on, Ms. Witherspoon—you're smarter than that."
A smile lingered at Anson's lips, his confidence quietly glowing in his eyes.
The balance of power had subtly shifted.
(End of Chapter)