The Greatest Showman #1327 - Mood Difference

At that moment, Pierre-Bernard wished he could dig a hole and bury himself. The shame burned within him like a small fire. If he could escape, he wouldn't hesitate. But he knew he couldn't. All he could do was bite the bullet and step forward.

"Renly, I'm so sorry..." Pierre started, his voice faltering as he finally opened the conversation. "I was at the door just now, and I truly apologize for not recognizing you. I made a huge mistake, an unforgivable one. But please know, our entire club welcomes you warmly and sincerely."

"Oh, no, no, no." Renly waved his hand, interrupting with a smile, as though dismissing the apology. "Believe me, this isn't the first time I've been rejected, and it won't be the last. Don't worry. You were just doing your job, doing your due diligence. No need to apologize."

This isn't the first time, and it won't be the last. What did that even mean?

Chris was utterly confused. What was Renly trying to say? Was he being sarcastic? Or was it some kind of joke? He couldn't quite understand.

It wasn't just Chris who was puzzled. Pierre and the rest of the staff were equally confused, though Pierre was more direct about it. "You mean... does this happen often? Does no one recognize you? God!"

Renly laughed brightly in response. "Why does everyone have to know me?"

"But... but you are Renly Hall," Pierre said, his words blunt and unfiltered.

Renly nodded, still smiling. "That's true. But the problem is, not everyone knows that."

Renly's tone shifted slightly, becoming more thoughtful as he continued, "For film lovers or film practitioners, Jean-Luc Godard or Ingmar Bergman are directors everyone must know. They've changed the history of film. You can love them or hate them, but how could anyone not know them? But not everyone loves movies, and not everyone remembers actors and directors."

Renly explained patiently, his tone sincere.

He had always known this, but his time away from the spotlight in the past few months had made him understand it even more. To the skydivers, the Queenstown residents, and the Alaskan hunters he'd met, he was just an ordinary young man exploring the world. There were no lights or focus on him; Renly's name meant nothing to them.

For Renly, acting was the heart of his life. But for many, their livelihood was their focus.

Renly remembered a line from Paradise Cinema, "If you don't go out and see the world, you'll think this is the whole world." When he first heard it, he liked it, but only after experiencing the truth of it did he fully understand the meaning. The world is vast, life is long, and if you close yourself off, you'll never truly understand life. The Hollywood vanity fair, like London's high society, was just another well.

As Renly said, the rules that applied to the film industry didn't necessarily apply to other fields, nor to personal life. He understood this better now.

Seeing the stunned looks on the staff, Renly chuckled. "Don't be so shocked. I'm just stating a fact, not some groundbreaking theory like Stephen Hawking." His words, light and playful, had a calming effect on everyone.

His smile remained, a small, knowing curve of his lips.

"Anyway," Renly continued, "thanks for your help earlier. No need to apologize." He glanced at Pierre's nameplate. "Pierre," he acknowledged. "Sorry for disturbing your private party. I hope you have a wonderful afternoon."

Hypocritical. That was Chris's first reaction. Renly had wrapped himself in lofty, seemingly profound words, pretending to be high-minded, pretending to stay above it all. It was the same routine Renly always pulled—a lot of circular, empty phrases with no real meaning. Was this a critique of Chris's own vanity?

Ridiculous. If Renly was so unique, why didn't he just stay in the West End? Why didn't he quit show business altogether and immerse himself in the art world? Why star in commercial movies and chase bigger paychecks? Why didn't he just show his devotion to art by not getting paid for those art films?

Hypocrite. That was the true Renly. Behind his noble persona and high-minded words, he was just like everyone else—a part of the vanity fair. His eloquent speech was just a cover for his own calculations.

Chris would never understand Renly. They would never be friends.

Chris forced a smile in response.

"Stay," Pierre urged. "Renly, today's party is a warm-up for The Great Gatsby's official unveiling tomorrow. Leonardo will be glad to see you. And Kerry and Justin are here too. Didn't you work together on the main competition this time?"

Renly raised an eyebrow, as if considering, then shook his head with a smile. "No need. More than a party, I need some rest. If the rumors I've heard are true, the next twelve days will be filled with countless parties, and I need to prepare myself. But I really appreciate your kindness."

Renly gave a polite nod and left.

Pierre quickly exchanged a glance with the head manager and then hurried to catch up with Renly. He opened the fence for him and escorted him out of the private club.

Chris stayed behind, his mind swirling. Something didn't feel right. Renly hadn't shown any malice. He didn't bring up past grievances or create any confrontations. The conversation had been polite, even friendly. Yet, Chris still couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. He couldn't put his finger on it, but there was a melancholy gnawing at him.

"Chris?" The duty manager's voice broke through his thoughts. "If you're ready, we can lead you in. The party is going on now."

Chris exhaled softly, trying to shake off his thoughts. He didn't need to be surprised. Renly had come to the party, was turned away, and then pretended to be above it all. When others invited him, he declined, maintaining a sense of aloofness as if everyone should cater to him.

"Okay," Chris replied, his voice flat. "Let's go in."

He followed the duty manager, walking away from the corridor entrance and stepping into the eccentric shadows of the club.

The scene outside had returned to its lively state. The photo wall was crowded with netizens and couples, posing on the street as the bustling audience continued to gather, creating a festive atmosphere.

After the incident earlier, Renly decided to give up on finding the beach. He called Andy Rogers, then stood under the shade of the tall palm trees, waiting patiently.

Though Cannes was a small town, the streets and alleys were packed with people. Finding an individual in such a crowd was almost like searching for a needle in a haystack. So Renly simply stood there, waiting for Andy to confirm the location of the private club.

Suddenly, a loud horn sounded from behind him. It wasn't the sound of a modern car horn, but the classic honk of a retro sedan from the 1930s or 1940s—almost like a toy car.

Renly turned around to see a mint-blue convertible sports car gliding through the sunlight, casting mottled shadows beneath the palm trees. The car drew the eyes of everyone around as it whizzed past, the driver honking the horn intentionally and calling out, "How about it? Interested in a ride?"

"Damn Ryan Gosling," Renly muttered under his breath.