Leonardo stood up, applauding excitedly.He believed this was his best performance yet.
Suddenly, as if remembering something, he leaned in close to Martin and said, "Man, don't forget what you promised."
"Don't worry, I haven't," Martin replied calmly. "Next year's Oscars—Meyers Films will go all in to help you campaign for Best Actor."
"You serious?" Leonardo asked, a bit anxious.
Martin glanced at him. "As long as your performance holds up, I'm seventy percent confident we can pull it off. Oh, and you're covering the PR expenses. Don't forget to send the check."
Hearing that, Leonardo perked up instantly, thumping his chest. "Don't worry. Whether I win or not, money's not an issue!"
"Good." Martin nodded, satisfied.
Next came the media interview session.
Martin Scorsese, clearly pleased with the premiere, stepped up to the stage grinning.
"I love the core of this film," he said. "In today's world, everyone's an informant for someone… You're completely at the mercy of the boss, who might be insane—and that's kind of how the world feels to me now."
"As for the box office? I think this is the most entertaining, most commercial film I've ever made. It should outperform all my previous work."
"Am I satisfied? Absolutely. I even think this might be my best film. You've always called me a bad boy—well, this time, I tried being a good one. Hahaha."
In most of Scorsese's earlier work, he had a reputation for breaking narrative conventions—jumping around with non-linear storytelling, layering emotions, and shaping characters in unpredictable ways. That earned him the label of a "bad student" by mainstream critics.
For instance, in Taxi Driver, to make pimp Sport and young Iris more vivid and complex, Scorsese added a spontaneous dance scene between them, disrupting the film's linear narrative.
But in The Departed, he restrained himself. No gimmicks. The storytelling was tighter, more cohesive, and more watchable.
No wonder he called it his most entertaining and commercial work to date.
...
After the premiere, Martin left in a hurry, brushing off Nicholson's invite for drinks.
Watching Martin disappear into his car, Nicholson muttered, "Any idea where he's headed?"
"Fuck," Leonardo replied dryly.
Nicholson frowned. "What the hell, you little punk—why're you cursing me?"
Matt Damon, standing nearby, laughed. "I don't think he's swearing, Jack. I think that was his answer."
Leonardo grinned. "Matt's right. You're getting old, Jack."
"Answer my question?" Nicholson frowned, thinking, then suddenly cursed, "Fuck! That bastard's off to see the French girl!"
"Exactly," Leonardo laughed. "Only a woman could make that guy ditch his friends and run off alone."
...
"It's pretty out here," Martin said, glancing around.Except for the house in front of them, there wasn't another building in sight.
It was practically the middle of nowhere.
"Heh, I can see you're not exactly impressed," Avril chuckled.
Martin raised his hands in surrender. "Alright, fine—you got me. This place is pretty remote. Don't you get scared living out here alone?"
"Please," Avril rolled her eyes. "If it weren't for you, I wouldn't even be here. I only bought this place to get some peace and quiet. And if I did plan to live here, I'd bring my assistant and a bodyguard."
"Aaah—!"
Martin suddenly shouted into the open air, his voice echoing across the empty land.
Then he grinned. "Man, it feels good. Canada really is vast and empty."
Avril laughed. "It's not just 'vast and empty.' Canada's population is mostly concentrated around the Great Lakes. Toronto alone has over six million people—about sixteen percent of the country's total. And even there, people mostly live in cities and suburbs. Outside that, you could drive for hundreds of kilometers without seeing a single house."
"This place—suburb or outer suburb?"
"Suburb," she said firmly. "The outer suburbs? That's no man's land. Apart from a few Indigenous communities, no one lives out there."
Chatting casually, they walked into the house.
The villa wasn't huge—about 400 square meters—but cozy. A heated swimming pool sat in the back garden.
"Wanna go for a swim? I've been heating the pool all day. Ah—!"
Before she could finish, Martin scooped her up and leapt into the water with her.
Compared to the cold air outside, the pool's temperature was perfect—neither too hot nor too cold.
Martin's fingers deftly stripped away what little remained on them, tossing it outside the pool.And then… the water began to ripple with intensity.
...
The next morning, Martin was woken up by his phone ringing.
"Bastard, where are you?" came Nicholson's voice. "The audience scores from the premiere are out."
"Oh?" Martin mumbled, still half-asleep. He glanced over—Avril was still fast asleep beside him, her delicate collarbone peeking out from under the covers.
"Who's that next to you?" Nicholson asked nosily.
"Not your business," Martin said lazily.
"If you don't tell me, I'm not telling you the rating," Nicholson pouted like a grumpy kid.
Martin chuckled. "I can guess without you telling me. It's an A+, isn't it?"
"Damn it, how'd you know?"
"Idiot! He's bluffing!" Leonardo's voice came roaring through the phone.
Then Nicholson's again: "Shit! Martin, you sly bastard!"
"I told you I should've made the call!" Leonardo shouted.
"Even if you had, he'd still have tricked you!"
"Says who? I heard you loud and clear just now!"
"Only because you made the call!"
"Frank, what kind of logic is that?!"
"What's wrong with my logic?!"
Martin listened to them bickering like kids, rolled his eyes, and hung up.
He turned over and hugged the girl beside him.
She was slender—but the important parts were more than enough.
"Mmm… huh?" Avril stirred groggily. "Martin, what are you doing?"
"I'm doing it," he replied with a wicked grin.
And so, another round began.