Although the band's rehearsals couldn't officially begin yet—since they still needed a drummer and a keyboardist—it was, without question, a wonderful start. It meant that one day, Hugo could once again pursue his dream of making music within a band. Even if that day was still far off, the path ahead was filled with hope.
Still, finding new band members couldn't be rushed. For a group like theirs—brought together purely by their shared love of music—having the right people mattered more than filling the roles quickly. All three agreed it was better to wait for the right fit than to rush and regret it later.
After pooling together enough money to pay six months of rent in advance, Hugo began visiting Skid Row frequently. He, Neil, and Pedro now had their own "base of operations." Although the trio couldn't rehearse as a full band yet, they spent plenty of time performing on the streets, experimenting with different styles and sounds.
Pedro finally began to grasp what Hugo had meant during his earlier critique, while Hugo and Neil also learned a lot from the process. Street performances were proving to be one of the best ways to grow as musicians.
That evening, after finishing another round of street shows, Hugo said goodbye to Pedro and Neil, pulled his baseball cap low over his eyes, and boarded a bus home. Carrying his guitar on his back, he climbed the stairs to his apartment. When he reached the second floor, he spotted Ernst coming out of his room and called out cheerfully, "Hey, Ernst, good evening!"
Ernst turned his head, saw Hugo, and grunted a short "Hmph." Though he still refused to look Hugo directly in the eye, at least he no longer lashed out like before. That "hmmph" could almost be considered a greeting. Then, leaning on his cane, Ernst slowly made his way downstairs without looking back.
Hugo had grown used to this by now. He wasn't surprised at all. Smiling, he called out after him, "Goodnight, Ernst." A moment later came another deep "Hmph" from below. Hugo laughed softly and continued upstairs to the third floor.
When he entered the apartment, Alex and Charlize were both out. Lately, Hugo had been idle, but the two of them had each landed some gigs—not permanent roles, but enough to gain experience and earn some income. That was definitely good news. The only one home was Joseph, who sat cross-legged on the couch, looking rather lonely.
"You're home early today," Hugo greeted him. Lately, Joseph had been quite busy—working tirelessly to find Hugo new auditions and studying management theory in his spare time. He was trying hard to grow into a competent agent, one step at a time. So Hugo was surprised to see him home before nine.
"Yeah," Joseph replied. "Rick and I visited a few PR agencies today, grabbed dinner, but one of the publicists got food poisoning and had to go to the ER, so I came home early." He lifted a bag of potato chips. "Want some?"
Hugo waved him off, heading into the kitchen. He poured himself a glass of water and started making coffee.
"Rick took you along—was that okay?" Hugo asked. Ever since learning more about the internal politics of International Creative Management (ICM) on New Year's Eve, he'd been paying more attention to such things.
After the Golden Globes, Ron had completely vanished again, clearly abandoning his so-called "comeback" plan from that night. Hugo had become a hot potato—no one wanted to touch him. Rick Rosen, however, had stayed professional as always: not overly friendly, but not distant either.
"It was fine," Joseph said simply. "It was a joint event between our company and a few PR agencies. A lot of people went. I was just one of them."
In Hollywood, talent agents, music managers, and publicists all handled different aspects of a career. ICM, for example, had separate departments for film, music, publishing, screenwriting, and sports. Most PR agencies, however, were independent, though they often partnered closely with talent agencies. Every major management company had its own go-to PR firm.
"I was actually hoping to find a publicist for you," Joseph continued. "That way, the next time some bad press hits, we won't have to scramble." Publicists, after all, had deeper media connections and specialized skills that could make a huge difference. "But instead, I stumbled on something else—an inside scoop. It's coming out tomorrow. I saw the sample copy of The Los Angeles Times myself."
"Really?" Hugo carried his cup back into the living room and sat down on the sofa, exhaling contentedly. "Now that's what I call the perks of having someone on the inside."
Joseph placed the chips between his knees and looked at Hugo seriously. "Aren't you curious what the scoop is?"
Hugo swallowed a sip of water, watching Joseph closely. Though Joseph's face always looked stern and old-fashioned, Hugo had learned to read his subtle expressions. There was something different in his eyes tonight—some excitement, maybe even glee. Clearly, this was good news.
"Alright," Hugo said with a grin. "Whose gossip is it?" He couldn't help but be curious. For Joseph to look this pleased, it had to be something big—especially since Joseph was not the gossipy type.
Joseph's lips curled into a small, satisfied smile.
"The Firm," he said.
Hugo froze, staring at him blankly. He didn't understand why Joseph was suddenly bringing up The Firm, and especially not with such a delighted look.
Joseph didn't keep him waiting. "Casting's officially wrapped. Production starts next Monday. The male lead is Tom Cruise, and the female lead is Jeanne Tripplehorn."
"Uh… who?" Hugo blinked, caught off guard.
"I know, I couldn't place the name at first either," Joseph said with a chuckle. "But she played the doctor in Basic Instinct. This is only her third movie."
A sly grin appeared on Joseph's face, and there was a spark of vindicated satisfaction in his eyes.
'What?' Hugo blurted out. Martin Baum had been maneuvering for so long, yet he still couldn't secure the role for Brad Pitt. And Uma Thurman, who had plotted for months, had also come up empty-handed. In the end, neither of them even appeared on the final cast list. The revelation was truly explosive.
"Are you sure?" Hugo still couldn't believe it and asked again.
Joseph nodded firmly. "It's confirmed. The Los Angeles Times will publish the story tomorrow." He lowered his head and chuckled softly, his tone tinged with sarcasm. "After all that drama during The Firm's casting, this feels like justice. Tracy and the others' scheming completely backfired. In the end, Sydney Pollack kept control of the project. That's just… so satisfying."
Hugo, however, let out a quiet sigh. Though Uma had only been a pawn in Tracy and Martin's game and yes, seeing them fail was satisfying—he mostly felt an emptiness inside. So this was how his relationship with Uma ended. She had abandoned their love in the name of ambition, yet her career hadn't soared as she'd hoped. She ended up with nothing. Her decision now seemed foolish, and the love she threw away, all the more tragic.
"So Tom had it planned all along," Hugo said with a knowing tone. Joseph looked puzzled, prompting Hugo to explain, "At the New Year's Eve party, Cruise attended Pollack's gathering with his wife. Looking back, he must have already been negotiating then. Missing out on A Few Good Men was a real blow for him, so landing The Firm became even more important."
Joseph began piecing it together. "Compared to a newcomer like Brad, it makes sense. Pollack wanted an all-star lineup—of course he'd choose someone at the peak of his fame like Tom. Directors like Rob who'd take a chance on you? There aren't many of them." He added with a teasing grin.
Thinking of Brad's smug look at the Golden Globes, Hugo couldn't help but burst into laughter.
Seeing Hugo laugh, Joseph finally asked, "Do you think Uma will call you?"
Considering Uma had left because of The Firm, it wasn't surprising that Joseph would wonder.
Hugo shook his head. "She won't."
Their argument that night had started because of The Firm, but it had ended because of trust. By then, the film itself no longer mattered. "She's Uma Thurman—she'll never admit she was wrong, much less bow her head. Once she makes a decision, she sticks with it to the very end."
Hugo realized, with a faint bitterness, that he truly understood Uma—while she never really understood him.
Silence fell. It was February 14th—Valentine's Day.
On such a day, learning this kind of news was deeply ironic. Hugo recalled the recent taping of The Oprah Winfrey Show, where they had discussed anniversaries. He had admitted that he was never sentimental about dates. Yet walking through the streets earlier, surrounded by couples, he had suddenly remembered what day it was. And now, after hearing this news, the irony cut deeper.
This Valentine's Day felt unusually cruel.
Seeing the shadow over Hugo's expression, Joseph hurried to change the subject. "Actually, I haven't told you the good news yet. Don't you want to hear it?" It was precisely because he had this good news that he'd dared to bring up Uma in the first place. Sure enough, Hugo looked at him curiously.
Joseph smiled. "Nora Ephron called. She wants you to do a second audition."
Hugo blinked, not quite registering it. Joseph elaborated, "Sleepless in Seattle—remember?"
"What—?" Hugo's hand slipped, and the cup he was holding tumbled straight into his lap, soaking the front of his khaki work pants. He jumped to his feet, looking down at the spreading wet patch that looked… unfortunate.
Joseph, deadpan as ever, remarked, "If you need the bathroom, it's better to go before it's too late."
..
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