Entertainment: Starting as a Succubus, Taking Hollywood by Storm-Chapter 450 - 449: The Man Who Resembles Martin

Manhattan's Fifth Avenue and Times Square—these iconic New York landmarks weren't just hubs for high fashion; they were also home to Michelin-starred restaurants, always teeming with the city's elite.

At some of the most prestigious establishments, even celebrities and the ultra-wealthy had to book reservations months in advance just to secure a table.

As Sex and the City's Carrie once said, "The most powerful woman in New York is the hostess at Jean-Georges who decides whether you get a table." Samantha added, "The real test of a man's status in this city? Whether he needs a reservation at Jean-Georges."

And Martin?

He was one of the very few who didn't need a reservation—he had a permanent table.

Just by looking at Anne Hathaway's excitement, it was clear she believed every word of that Sex and the City quote.

Surprisingly, as Martin took his seat, he spotted a familiar face at a nearby table.

"Wait, what are you doing here?" Martin raised an eyebrow at Leonardo DiCaprio.

Leo looked just as surprised before rolling his eyes. "The hell do you mean? Why wouldn't I be here? I'm famous, okay? It's not that hard for me to get a table at Jean-Georges."

Martin chuckled. "True celebrities don't need reservations—we have permanent tables. Like me."

Anne Hathaway, meanwhile, greeted the blonde beauty sitting across from Leo.

"Hi! I'm Anne Hathaway."

The woman smiled. "Hi! I'm Bar Refaeli. I loved The Princess Diaries—you were amazing."

Anne instantly beamed. "Thank you! So much!"

She then pointed to Martin and Leo, who were now bickering. "Just ignore them. Men can be so childish sometimes. Martin always says, 'Boys never really grow up.'"

Bar Refaeli giggled in agreement.

Eventually, the four decided to push their tables together and dine as a group.

As they chatted, Martin learned that Bar Refaeli was a model who had met Leo at a party.

She had the classic DiCaprio-approved look—blonde, blue-eyed, and legs for days.

Unlike most models who came from modest backgrounds, Bar was from a wealthy family.

She was born in a small Israeli village where her parents ran a horse ranch.

By the time she was just eight months old, she had already begun modeling in Israel.

At 15, she signed with an agency and began working for magazine catalogs.

Last year, in 2002, she had moved to New York to advance her career.

Meanwhile, Leo and Martin began discussing The Aviator, which Leo was currently filming.

"Martin, are you sure you don't want to make a cameo? This film has two stunning leading ladies. I don't even need to mention Cate Blanchett—you probably know her better than I do."

Leo smirked and shot Martin a knowing look before continuing.

"And then there's Kate Beckinsale—absolute knockout."

Martin shook his head. "Pass. My schedule's packed. Step Up is about to premiere, and I'm in the middle of shooting Spider-Man 2. I can maybe drop by for a set visit."

Leo nodded. "A set visit works. I'll have a few journalists cover it—it'll be free promo for the film. You cool with that?"

Martin shrugged. "No big deal."

He knew The Aviator was one of Leo's passion projects—his Oscar film.

Leo had even invested in it personally.

Since The Aviator was a biopic about Howard Hughes—one of America's most legendary figures—it was Oscar bait to the max.

Leo was visibly excited as he spoke about Hughes, the real-life inspiration for Marvel's Iron Man.

"Martin, honestly? Sometimes I feel like you and Hughes are so alike. You're both freakishly talented."

"Did you know?

At eleven, Hughes was building his own radios and even set up Houston's first wireless station.

At twelve, he invented a motorized bicycle.

At thirteen, he assembled a fully functional motorcycle.

At fourteen, he learned to fly a plane.

At eighteen, his parents both passed away, leaving him their business—Hughes Tool Company—and a fortune.

R𝑒ad latest chapt𝒆rs at freewebnovёl.ƈom Only.

By nineteen, he had already expanded the company into a major industrial empire.

Then he stormed into Hollywood, produced movies, and—get this—his very first film, Swamp Angels, was so bad his uncle told him it would make him the laughingstock of Hollywood.

So what did he do?

He burned every single reel of the film—wasting $80,000 in the process.

That was a fortune back then! What a madman.

But after that, it was like he was on a winning streak.

His comedy Two Arabian Knights won the very first Academy Award for Best Director.

His crime film The Racket was nominated for Best Picture at the first-ever Oscars.

Then, in Hell's Angels, he personally piloted a stunt plane—crashed it—nearly died—but the movie still became a smash hit, earning $8 million at the box office."

Leo took a sip of his wine and leaned forward.

"You seriously remind me of him. You both make success look easy. While others struggle for years, you just waltz in and dominate."

Martin chuckled. "Nah. We're not the same. He was a bad student—I was top of my class.

He made money but lost a lot too—I only make money.

And he dated 164 actresses..."

Martin grinned. "Okay, that part, we might have in common."

(Side note: Howard Hughes' romantic history included legends like Ingrid Bergman, Hedy Lamarr, Elizabeth Taylor, and Katharine Hepburn.)

Anne Hathaway playfully smacked Martin's arm.

Martin caught her hand, kissed it, and continued.

"Hughes became the world's richest man at 41. I'll hit that way sooner.

Oh, and I definitely don't have his insane germophobia."

Leo's eyes twinkled mischievously.

"Speaking of his germophobia, I have to share this story.

So, after Hughes married Jean Peters, a total bombshell, guess what his nighttime routine was?

Before anything happened, he forced her to take three showers.

Then—get this—he made her plug herself up with a tiny stopper (yeah, you know what I mean).

And only then—after double-wrapping himself with two condoms—would he even consider doing the deed."

Leo burst out laughing. "Total psychopath, right?"

Martin snorted. "That's nothing.

The real crazy part?

Jean Peters put up with it for fourteen years before finally divorcing him."