The Greatest Showman #673 - Pool Party

Parked along the side of the road, a black Ferrari gleamed in the sunlight. Its streamlined body reflected the rays, and even when the accelerator wasn't pressed, the low rumble of its engine carried an undeniable power. The car exuded understated luxury, drawing the attention of passersby, who couldn't help but steal a glance.

Paul, sitting in the driver's seat, peered through the passenger window and noticed the faint surprise on Renly's face. He hesitated for a moment, wondering how to break the silence, before a proud smile crept across his face. "Get in. I'm guessing this isn't your first time seeing a sports car like this."

In Los Angeles, high-end sports cars were commonplace, especially along the road from Malibu to the city. The final stretch—Santa Monica Boulevard—was lined with luxury cars, leading directly to Sunset Boulevard and Hollywood Boulevard.

Renly opened the car door and slid inside, offering a slight smile. "But I'm pretty sure this is the first time I've seen a car from the Fast & Furious series in real life." He glanced at Paul. "I didn't admit I was wrong, did I?"

Paul expertly steered the Ferrari into traffic, heading toward Santa Monica Boulevard. "Yeah. This is the black convertible from the first Fast & Furious movie, driven by Rinier. I'm not typically a Ferrari guy, but I really liked this one, so I got it for myself." He shot a glance at Renly. "Want me to drop the top? It's a perfect day for it."

"I'm worried about messing up my hair," Renly responded seriously. Paul blinked, studying Renly a bit longer before catching the gleam of humor in his eyes. He burst into laughter.

As the laughter faded, Paul shifted the topic. "So, do you know whose house the party's at?"

Renly thought for a moment. "If I remember correctly, it's Ben Affleck's place." Though Renly was still new to Los Angeles, Paul, having lived here for years, was much more familiar with the city's dynamics. "Though, fewer actors are living in Beverly Hills these days. Many have moved out or are renting their homes temporarily. So I'm not sure who's living there now."

Ben Affleck. That name was unexpected. Renly, who knew Andy well, couldn't help but wonder why Ben Affleck was the one hosting this gathering. But it wasn't the host that concerned him; it was the audition. Renly was more focused on the next steps for Edge of Tomorrow, and he didn't have time to worry about the villa's owner.

"But why would you get an invite from Ben Affleck?" Paul asked, his surprise evident. "The Boston guys are known for being pretty insular. They don't casually invite outsiders to their parties. And you're from New York, no less."

The American entertainment scene was famously divided between the East Coast, led by New York, and the West Coast, with Los Angeles at its heart. There were long-standing rivalries, not just in music and film but also in culture, politics, and economics.

Ben Affleck, Casey Affleck, Matt Damon, Ed Harris, Kevin Smith—these were the leaders of the so-called Boston Gang.

"I'm not sure if the invite actually came from Ben Affleck," Renly teased, his tone light. "But this isn't just a party; it's an audition, although I can't say why they'd choose a private mansion as the venue."

Paul, still focused on the driving, wasn't surprised by the mention of an audition. There had been rumors about Renly's new projects, and many actors' names—including Renly's—were showing up on the lists for upcoming films. But Paul shifted his attention back to Renly's question.

"Believe it or not, a lot of Hollywood auditions take place at parties, especially with the big-name producers," Paul explained with a chuckle. "I once stayed at a party for almost three hours, waiting to meet the producer, but I couldn't find them anywhere. I was so nervous that I couldn't enjoy the party. And the music? It was so loud I could barely hear myself think."

Renly couldn't help but laugh at Paul's story. It was a classic Hollywood tale. Paul laughed along, momentarily forgetting the reason for the drive as they both lost themselves in the humor of the situation.

"But the real kicker? When I finally met the producer at 3 a.m., they were completely out of it—big H style," Paul continued, his face breaking into a grin. "And then they asked me to dance…"

Paul paused, shaking his head, unable to suppress the laughter. "The catch was, the music was Indian dance music. Can you imagine?"

Renly raised an eyebrow, "At least you had music."

Paul froze, his laughter momentarily stilled, then turned to Renly in disbelief. "Did you… did you dance?" he asked, half-laughing, half-worried.

Renly's expression remained deadpan. Paul could tell from his serious demeanor that Renly was contemplating the ridiculousness of the whole situation.

Finally, Renly broke into laughter. Paul let out a relieved sigh, laughing along with him.

As they continued along Santa Monica Boulevard toward Beverly Hills, Paul expertly navigated the streets. Traffic was light, and the journey took only about 15 minutes, except that they had trouble finding parking. After driving around for a while, they finally found a spot three blocks away and walked toward the villa.

At the entrance of the villa, four bodyguards in black suits stood watch. They asked for Renly's name, and after he reported it, they waved him through without further checks. No guest list, no repeated questions.

Renly raised an eyebrow. "Does this mean anyone can get in just by saying Ben Affleck's name?"

"Of course," Paul said with a smile. "If you're bold enough, that is. For most people, Hollywood has a sort of aura about it. They can't imagine that something like a name-drop could get them inside a top-tier party. But for the hosts? The real trick is not getting in—it's fitting in."

Renly immediately understood. In Hollywood, entering the party was only the first hurdle. The real challenge was blending in, letting go of any reservations, and becoming part of the crowd. Otherwise, you'd remain an outsider, no matter how famous or talented you were.

Before they could continue their conversation, the noise, music, and laughter from inside the villa greeted them.

Inside, a stunning bikini-clad girl and a man in swimming trunks carried trays of cocktails and snacks, weaving through the crowd. A man sat at a black-and-white piano, dressed in a vest and swim briefs, playing a melody by Tchaikovsky.

The juxtaposition of swimmers and guests in formal attire—suits and ties—created a striking contrast. The California sunlight illuminated the house, making the vibrant colors of mint, pink, yellow, and green almost blinding. The mix of well-dressed and barely-dressed individuals created an overwhelming sensory experience.

A blonde in a high-cut retro bikini approached with a tray of tequila shots. She winked at Renly and Paul. "Care for a drink to get the party started?"

Renly declined, knowing he needed to stay sober for the audition. He turned to Paul, who also declined. Renly smiled at the girl. "I need to stay sharp for now, but thanks."

She didn't seem to mind, flashing a bright smile before turning and walking away, her blonde hair cascading behind her.

As they made their way through the crowd, the scene outside came into view: the jelly-blue pool, golden sunlight, vibrant swimsuits, pink flamingos drifting in the water, and bodies moving to the DJ's beats. It was chaotic, primal, a strange mix of heaven and hell.

There was a sliding door that separated two worlds: indoors, a controlled and sophisticated atmosphere, and outdoors, a free-for-all of music, dance, and celebration. The contrast was stark, yet both worlds seemed equally surreal.