Wrap

When George Lucas found another opportunity to visit the set, Irene was filming the final courtroom scenes.

"Hey, Mom, make the lighting warmer! I want to specifically highlight Reese's presence!"

"Copy that, boss."

"This outfit on Elle won't do! It needs to be sharper, more professional! Haven't you ever seen proper business attire? I want a 'pink bomb,' not 'pink cotton candy'! Go change it!"

When George arrived, he happened to catch Irene "throwing a tantrum" on set. Sure enough, no matter how good a temper someone has, it's hard to stay gentle once they sit in the director's chair.

Seeing that Irene hadn't noticed him, he went with Francis to a nearby trailer to chat.

"Time flies so fast; even Irene has started directing on her own." George took the teacup Francis handed him, but took only one sip before the heat forced him to set it down quickly.

"Your Star Wars Prequel should be in post-production by now, right?" There was a hint of probing in Francis's tone, which George picked up on immediately.

"What, haven't you found a distributor for Irene's movie yet?"

Old friends really can't hide anything from each other. "A few companies have expressed interest, but I haven't decided which one to choose. I was just about to ask you, how is 20th Century Fox?"

"You're worrying too early; wait until Irene finishes filming. Every company has different strengths, and I can't give a recommendation without seeing the final cut." George carefully picked up his teacup again. "By the way, is Irene's filming going okay? Even though you can rely on your old reputation to pull some favors, if the film is truly bad, I'm afraid your face won't be enough to save it."

Francis stayed on set every day and reviewed the daily footage after wrapping, so he had quite a bit of confidence in his daughter: "Although she's not quite on our level, I don't think there will be any problem pulling in fifty or sixty million at the box office."

George choked on his tea and started coughing: "That much confidence?"

Francis, however, was unwilling to reveal more, simply smiling with a feigned air of mystery.

George remembered that Francis had the same look on his face back when he was filming The Godfather, and he felt significantly more at ease.

On the set, while Irene was monitoring the final adjustments, she caught Edward Nelson sneaking over.

He pulled two Britney albums from his jacket: "Hey, Boss, you have no idea how hard these were to get! I waited in line for a long time just to buy them."

Irene took them. She had been working around the clock lately and hadn't had any time to support her friend's career. "Perfect! Go help me buy a hundred more... no, two hundred! Everyone on the crew gets one."

Edward swallowed hard and said dryly: "Boss, it's not that I don't want to help... it's really impossible! There's a purchase limit now, only one per person. Even the one in your hand is one I bought from someone else at a markup."

"It's that popular..." Irene had originally wanted to show some support, but it seemed she wouldn't need to. "Never mind then. How much for these? I'll reimburse you."

"Small change, don't worry about it! Just remember to call me if you have another movie next time!" Edward's scenes had ended long ago, but he hadn't found a new job, so he kept hanging around the set. He would stick to Irene whenever she had a free moment.

Irene thought he was handsome and saved her money on hiring extras, so she couldn't bring herself to refuse him, letting him run errands. Who knew he would become even more proactive, working without pay and even spending his own money to help out.

Irene seriously recalled his acting skills and carefully scrutinized his handsome face before nodding against her better judgment.

To be honest, Edward had short golden-brown hair, ice-blue eyes, a high bridge of his nose, and well-defined lips. When he smiled, it was like sunlight pouring down—a total pretty boy whose looks were in no way inferior to the currently exploding Leonardo DiCaprio.

It was a pity his acting was a hundred streets behind Leonardo, which was no wonder he hadn't become famous in his past life despite having that face.

If you can't find the book title, try searching for the author; perhaps the name was changed!

With his family background, he didn't need to struggle on the acting path at all. Whether he became famous or not, he could always go back and inherit the family business. In his past life, after encountering a few Hollywood dark secrets, he had become disillusioned and went home.

But in this life, he happened to run into Irene, who was a sucker for good looks. "Boss, do you know of any legitimate crews you could recommend me to?"

"What, you still haven't found a job?" Even with poor acting, he shouldn't be struggling to get a role with lines given that face.

"Don't even mention it! I go to auditions, and everyone says they know some producer or some big director who can definitely turn me into the next Leonardo, as long as I'm 'obedient.' They ask me to go to a hotel for a 'detailed talk' in a second? Do they take me for a fool? They're all old enough to be my grandparents... if I'm going to let someone take advantage of me, I'd rather it be you, Boss! Why don't you 'submerge' me? I believe in you! I'll be your designated supporting actor from now on!"

"Pfft! Thanks for thinking so highly of me—would 'submerging' you be a bargain for me or for you? And you've got some self-awareness, only daring to ask for a supporting role?"

"Hehe, I forgot you're still a minor, Boss. Once you're of age, you're welcome to come find me anytime!"

"Get lost."

"Director, the lighting is ready." Time flew by while the two were bantering. The lighting crew had adjusted the soft top lighting into place, and the camera crew had finished the final track calibration; everything was ready.

Irene put away her smile, her expression instantly becoming focused. She walked to the monitor and picked up the walkie-talkie: "Alright, attention all departments, let's do a test run." She turned to Reese, who was standing at the start of the crowd, her tone firm and full of trust: "Elle, remember, I want you to show that calm and composed elegance in the middle of the crowd—not deliberate showiness, but confidence from the inside out. Action!"

The clapperboard snapped crisply.

Elle Woods took a deep breath, lifted her chin, and walked toward the crowd with a confident stride. She was draped in a bright pink suit, like a beam of living light flowing through an ocean of solemn black suits.

She walked against the current, every step taken with composure, her pink figure carving an elegant and eye-catching trajectory through the dark crowd.

At that moment, without a word, the gentle yet firm power of a woman, along with an undeniable radiance, was fully displayed.

The camera froze on the moment she looked back, her eyes holding both the composure of victory and a subtle, hidden warmth.

"Cut!" Irene's voice broke the silence, but she immediately picked up the megaphone to add: "Very good! But we can do better! Please remember—you are not background; you are students of Harvard Law School. I want you to look at Elle with scrutiny, curiosity, and even a hint of confusion! We need to make this contrast more tense—let's do another take!"

When the final shot was perfectly completed, Irene stood up from behind the monitor, looked around at all the staff and actors waiting with bated breath, took a deep breath, and announced in a clear and resonant voice: "I announce—Legally Blonde, it's a wrap!"

The set immediately erupted into enthusiastic cheers. Irene stood in the center of the set, watching the lights around her go out one by one, like a slow curtain call.

She felt a strange sense of weightlessness—as if she had just finished a long high-altitude walk, her feet finally touching solid ground, yet still trembling slightly.

The past few months played back in her mind like a roll of film: from the first NG to the repeated adjustments of the shooting plan; from the countless late nights reviewing footage to those tense, anxious, near-breakdown moments.

At this moment, all emotions settled into a wonderful sense of calm.

Every set piece, every prop, and even the dust floating in the air had been an extension of her will.

She spread her palms, the sensation of the script paper still lingering on her fingertips. These hands had clenched tightly in the dark time and again, nails digging into her palms, telling herself she had to be calm, she had to persist.

And now, a strange feeling was slowly emerging; perhaps it was far from perfect, or even far from excellent, but she had truly, completely finished it.

She took one last look at the empty courtroom set, turned, and walked into the celebrating crowd.

Her steps were light, yet exceptionally firm, like a student who had handed in their most important exam paper—though she didn't know the grade, she had given her all.

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