Looking at that long string of zeros on the passbook made Hugo sigh that he was now a millionaire. It all seemed to have come too easily. Even with a million dollars in front of his eyes, it still didn't feel real. Maybe if he withdrew it all and stacked it up at home, the feeling would come; but Hugo didn't get the chance, because that sum was quickly transferred into Joseph's account, and Hugo's own account balance instantly dropped to less than two hundred thousand dollars.
"Oh!" Hugo let out an exaggerated yelp to express his heartache. He had been plenty straightforward when agreeing to Joseph's request, but now it truly hit him—this was a very, very large sum of money.
Although he didn't know exactly what had happened to Joseph's family, Joseph's anxiety was plain to see. Thinking of his own family's situation, Hugo actually felt a bit relieved, at least the Lancaster family had been calm over the past year. No warming, but no worsening either.
In American movies and TV series, Thanksgiving was basically a synonym for family troubles, and art comes from life. When American families gather during Thanksgiving, all kinds of conflicts tend to erupt in a big collective explosion. Even so, Thanksgiving was still a time for family reunions. Whether you liked it or cared or not, as long as your family was still living in good health, that was something to be thankful for.
Watching Joseph fret and run around over his family matters, Hugo could also feel Joseph's deep attachment to his family. That gave Hugo a trace of warmth, and the gloom in his heart from his father gradually cleared under Los Angeles' sunny skies.
Things might not be solvable in the short term, but that didn't mean they could never be solved.
When he got home, Hugo glanced around the empty living room and dropped his keys into the glass bowl by the door. "Alex? Charlize? Kal? Anyone home?" Everyone had still been there when he'd left earlier—how was it that just a quick trip to the bank left the place empty?
"I'm here." Charlize's muffled voice came from her room. "You're back?" Her bedroom door was firmly shut; Hugo could easily picture her inside bellowing at the top of her lungs, and he couldn't help but smile—this woman was nothing like a woman.
Before Hugo had the chance to sit down, the door swung open wide, and Charlize came out with her head down, adjusting her clothes as she walked, while asking, "You rushed out earlier—something urgent? I was going to ask you to buy some milk, but you were gone in a flash."
Hugo didn't answer right away; he just stared in shock. Charlize had blackened her face entirely, the application perfectly even, and on the light gray base she'd added some grubby-looking smudges. She wore khaki work pants with a white T-shirt, but the problem was that the outfit looked as if it had been rolled in the dirt a few times. She was the spitting image of a street vagrant.
When she didn't get an answer, Charlize naturally lifted her head and caught Hugo's astonished look. "What?"
"Did you just go rummaging through the trash for dinner?" Hugo finally snapped out of it enough to blurt out the line.
Charlize rolled her eyes. "Yes, just for you." She straightened her clothes a bit, then looked up at Hugo. "Well? Any flaws? I need to play a homeless person."
Only then did Hugo understand. He gave her a quick once-over, then pointed at her collarbone. "The color here is still different from your neck." Then he pointed at her palms and wrists. "And a vagrant's nails would be blacker, with lots of grime. The black on your wrists should also be more uneven."
Role-playing was a very important part of acting practice. Although there would be professional makeup artists on set, during the learning process, one had to have greater control over details like makeup and costumes. An outstanding actor had to understand these aspects well enough that, even when there were professionals in the crew, they could grasp a role accurately through such details.
Hugo might not have come from a professional background, but in the ten years before his rebirth, he had studied countless films; and in the past six months, training in acting alongside Charlize and Alex, he had begun to learn performance skills systematically. Not to mention, he had acted in two high-caliber films. Hugo's eye for detail had indeed made great progress.
Charlize looked at her hands—sure enough, her nails were still a little too clean. Then she glanced at her hands again and muttered in frustration, "I've been smearing for an hour, and it's still not good enough." Complaints aside, she turned and went back to her room to continue her makeup work.
Hugo followed her to the doorway and leaned against the frame. "Need help?"
"No. The teacher says it's best to do it yourself—makeup is an important part too." Charlize stood before the dressing mirror checking her collarbone. She tugged her T-shirt lower, revealing that smooth, taut skin, then used the black powder in her hand to paint over the canvas without hesitation.
"This an acting assignment?" That was the only explanation Hugo could think of for Charlize dressing up as a homeless person.
After finishing with her collarbone, Charlize finally replied, "Yes. The teacher told us to pick a character and go perform on the street."
"…And you chose a homeless person?" The topic was familiar enough—its purpose was to train actors' courage in front of strangers. Street performance came in many forms, and even just standing still doing performance art meant enduring the stares, indifference, and even contempt of passersby. The pressure was no less than that of a camera lens. After all, acting on camera was to be scrutinized by audiences. So street performance assignments were not unusual in acting classes. But that Charlize would choose a homeless person—that was truly unexpected.
Charlize nodded decisively. "Yes." She began smudging her fingers. The fine lines on the fingers made it harder to produce the uneven, grimy effect of a vagrant's hands. "I was originally going to paint an opera mask, but I found I didn't have the skill. I just wanted to hide my face so people would focus on my body language."
Charlize's looks were simply too striking, often unintentionally drawing unnecessary attention. Even acting teachers could easily be distracted. This was a major disadvantage. In fact, Hugo had also encountered the same situation during the filming of Scent of a Woman and A Few Good Men, but Al and Jack were seasoned enough to handle it, guiding Hugo's performance and thus masking the issue. No wonder people said the road to the Oscar statuette was especially rocky for the beautiful.
Hearing Charlize's words, Hugo let a faint smile play across his lips and teased, "Are you complimenting your own looks?"
Charlize's hands paused, then she looked at Hugo and laughed. "Yes," she answered with full confidence.
Hugo lifted his right index finger and wagged it. "Remember—never smile." Charlize's smile instantly turned to puzzlement. "Your teeth," Hugo pointed out, like a sudden wake-up call. Makeup was clearly no easy job.
After all, a homeless person's teeth were generally yellowed, sometimes even stained, but this was not an effect amateur makeup artists like them could realistically create. So avoiding smiling was the simplest method.
Charlize reined in her smile and continued smearing her hands. "What about you? Any plans for the afternoon?" Recently, the promotion for Scent of a Woman had been nearing its end, and Hugo was suddenly finding a lot more free time to rest at home.
Hugo hadn't had any particular plans, but looking at Charlize now gave him a sudden idea. "I could go with you for the street performance."
Charlize turned her head to size him up from top to bottom and curled her lips. "Dressed like that? What do you plan to play, a prince giving alms to a homeless person?"
Even though it was still makeup, this wasn't like a simple Halloween costume—it required a full set of gear and matching makeup, clearly much more complicated. Charlize had spent a full hour and still wasn't finished. Hugo deciding at the last minute to join in obviously left no time for such preparation.
Hugo knew his look was far too different from Charlize's, so after thinking for a moment, he smiled. "I have an idea. I think we could perform a short little play." Since it was a street performance, a bit of simple drama wouldn't hurt. On the contrary, it could greatly help with acting practice.
"Drama?" Charlize looked at Hugo with surprise, pondering for a moment. "Actually, I didn't have a detailed plan to begin with—just thought I'd go to the street to beg, weave a tragic backstory, and see how many passersby would believe it. But do you have a better plan?"
Hugo nodded repeatedly. "My plan won't conflict with yours." Though his improvised play wasn't fully developed, the essence of street performance wasn't about fooling people—it was about complete immersion. Even if the audience knew it was just an act, it didn't matter; the point was to draw them into the performance. So a touch of exaggeration was no problem at all.
Then Hugo leaned in and quietly told Charlize his plan. When she finished listening, Charlize frowned. "Will that work?"
"Why not? We're trying to practice acting anyway. Bringing in some plot will actually help with emotional outbursts." Hugo was quite pleased with his idea. "Besides, some interaction will be much more effective than you just sitting there sobbing alone."
Charlize didn't dwell on it. "Since it's acting practice, if you're willing to help, so much the better. Let's try it, then." She paused. "Do we need to rehearse first?"
Hugo curled his lips. "Let's improvise on the spot. Our story's setup is an accident anyway, right? Who knows—maybe we'll even get a few unexpected surprises."
...
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