When he left London, Matthew didn't board the flight to Los Angeles; instead he detoured to Miami, Florida, to see Britney for a day.
With Britney's Miami concert about to open, her schedule was brutal. Matthew could only steal an hour during her lunch break for a clandestine date before he had to leave. He'd planned to catch her show the next day and only then fly back to Los Angeles, but a call from Helen Herman ordered him home immediately to prepare for the Gladiator premiere.
Left with no choice, Matthew changed his ticket and hopped on the afternoon flight to L.A., beginning to understand why celebrity couples so rarely manage to stay together.
He and Britney had been officially dating for half a year, yet they'd met fewer than ten times.
"Once Britney finishes her World Tour and my own career picks up…" Matthew told himself, "there'll be more time."
It gave him a headache; Britney had mentioned her label was already plotting her second album.
Back in Los Angeles, he didn't even go home from LAX—he headed straight to Angel Talent Agency, where Helen Herman was waiting.
Inside the agency's little building he left his luggage at reception, went upstairs, and walked into Helen's office. "Why the emergency recall?"
Without standing on ceremony he filled a paper cup at the cooler. After he'd taken a swallow Helen said, "The North-American premiere of Gladiator is in four days!"
Matthew, still clueless, dropped into the chair across from her desk. "Right—four whole days."
Helen cut to the chase: "Are you ready for it?"
"Ready!" He'd certainly thought about the red carpet; this was a rare spotlight moment. "My new suit's barely been worn; I had wardrobe press it while I was still in the U.K…."
"Hold up." Helen lifted a hand. "You're planning to walk the carpet in last-season clothes?"
Matthew spread his arms. "They're brand-new."
Helen stared. "Fine—what label? Which designer? Which year's cut? And the shoes, bow-tie, shirt—how are you handling all of it?"
"Uh…" He came up empty; he'd never paid attention to that stuff. "I don't know."
"You're an actor," Helen stressed, "one with a growing profile. At formal events your taste and image matter."
Matthew shrugged. "I'm lost."
He understood stars shine because teams polish them, but he had no idea how the machinery worked.
"Exactly why I dragged you back," Helen said.
"I'm out of my depth," Matthew admitted, already trusting her professionally. "I'll follow your lead."
"You're not sticking me in some luxury house's bespoke tux, are you?"
"No need," Helen shook her head. "At your current tier and budget, that's overkill."
Matthew stayed quiet; in this arena the Agent's word was law.
"A mid-range label will do," she continued. "There's no time for tailoring. I've lined up a rental house that supplies full looks, shoes included. You're trying things on tomorrow."
She slid two business cards across the desk, tapping the first, then lightly patting the second. "This one's for a Personal Stylist—"
"I've already spoken with her. Call today and book her for premiere-day hair and grooming."
"Got it." Matthew tucked both cards into his wallet, then asked the urgent question: "So… Helen, what do they charge?"
Knowing his tight finances, Helen said, "Budget two thousand dollars; that should cover everything."
Matthew nodded, wincing inwardly. band of brothers had paid him forty grand. After Helen's ten-percent commission, twenty in early-withdrawal penalties, four to Lawyer Wilson, four for a year's apartment lease, gifts he'd mail-ordered for Britney, and April's Tax Season, he was down to a little over three grand.
Dropping two grand in one go felt like being flung back to square one.
"That figure includes the car," Helen added. "The studio has no Auto Sponsor, so only the director, principals, and VIPs get transport. Everyone else supplies their own."
Matthew knew without asking he wasn't on the studio's chauffeur list.
He looked up at Helen Herman and asked tentatively, "I remember you have a Mercedes."
Helen Herman didn't even think about it. "I don't moonlight as a chauffeur." She tossed a folder in front of Matthew. "Here's a budget rental agency—pick a car from the list."
Matthew took it and flipped through. "What do you recommend?"
"A flagship cadillac." Helen Herman obviously had it all figured out. "Service from noon to midnight, no more than five hundred bucks."
"Fine." Matthew handed the folder back. "Set it up for me."
Helen Herman didn't refuse; she took the folder and nodded.
"By the way, Helen." Thinking of his soon-to-be-empty wallet, Matthew asked, "When will the band of brothers production pay the remaining twenty grand?"
"Out of cash?" Helen Herman asked.
Matthew didn't deny it. "Yeah. If I hadn't lived on set these months, I probably couldn't scrape together two thousand."
He'd been shooting on set for months, so living expenses were tiny—apart from the occasional drink with Michael Fassbender, James McAvoy, and Michael Fassbender, most of his money actually went on Britney. Every time she hit a new city for a concert, she'd get a custom gift from him.
Even so, he was sliding back toward being broke.
Matthew hadn't expected a premiere red carpet to cost so much. By normal logic, women spend more on clothes and grooming, so wouldn't an actress's red-carpet bill be even higher?
Of course, he knew big stars were different—there's a magical thing called sponsors.
"You've wrapped all Ronald Speirs' scenes." Helen Herman was all business. "I'll contact production this afternoon. If everything goes smoothly, you should get the final paycheck next week."
"Let's hope so!" Matthew stood. "If there's nothing else, I'm off."
Helen Herman nodded and added, "Don't forget to call the Costume Rental Company and the Stylist."
"Won't forget!" Matthew figured a polished look was mandatory for stardom. "Call my cell if anything else pops up."
He collected his luggage downstairs, left Angel Talent Agency, hailed a cab, and headed back to Westwood. On the ride he worried about money again—once the last twenty-thousand-dollar check cleared, he could pay the contract penalty. If Helen Herman landed him a new gig with decent pay, he'd have enough left for a used car.
He didn't want a bank loan; a new car was out of the question, but a used one would do.
Back in his apartment, he rested up. The moment business hours started the next day, he called the Costume Rental Company—he could drop by for fittings any time—then phoned the Stylist and set an appointment. With nothing else to do, he headed straight to the rental shop.
He tried on dozens of men's formal outfits. A dresser rattled off details, but to Matthew the suits all looked the same. In the end, combining the staffer's advice with the rental price, he chose a black tuxedo.
Clothes sorted, he went back to his apartment, picked up the borrowed tapes, paid a special visit to the Los Angeles School of Performing Arts, returned them to his former Acting Teacher David Astor, and borrowed a fresh batch to keep practicing on his own.
That afternoon Helen Herman called: after talking with production she confirmed the final paycheck would arrive next Monday.
The news gave Matthew confidence, so he swung by the Second-hand Market. He browsed cars first, but thanks to personal baggage ruled out anything Japanese or Korean, and finally settled on a white used ford sedan—cheap at under five grand.
He planned to pick it up once his check cleared next week.
Over the following days Matthew returned to his disciplined routine: workouts, study, mimicry, and—his latest addition—writing practice.
After a year of relentless effort his reading level wasn't stellar, but he felt it was close to average.
As for his handwriting—best not mentioned.
Time flew while Matthew kept busy. At noon on premiere day, the black cadillac Helen Herman had booked pulled up at his apartment. Matthew hopped in, collected the suit and shoes from the rental shop, then reached the Stylist's studio.
Three hours later, styling finally done, Matthew climbed back into the cadillac and headed for the premiere venue—Grauman's Chinese Theatre.