The black cadillac glided along the Walk of Fame, drawing closer to Graumans Chinese Theatre. Matthew lowered the window slightly and could clearly hear the cheers drifting from that direction. The car slowed, eased into the waiting zone, and a Crew staffer came over to coordinate the entry order.
In a red-carpet lineup, the biggest stars are usually placed at the very beginning or the very end; Matthew had been scheduled to arrive somewhere in the middle.
With plenty of time before his slot, Matthew sat calmly in the car and waited.
Suddenly, thunderous cheers erupted from Graumans Chinese Theatre—some major celebrity must have stepped onto the red carpet.
Matthew seriously wondered whether he'd be greeted by silence when he walked it. Hardly anyone should recognize him; the only officially released work he had appeared in so far was Britney's music video and "girl, interrupted." The former had a narrow audience, and in the latter he was just an extra. Still, this was a first in his life, and he was full of anticipation.
After a while, under the staff's guidance, the black cadillac rolled forward again. Matthew could already see the fans lining both sides of the carpet and the constant flashing of cameras; he quickly raised the window.
He checked the time and figured it must already be the latter part of the middle section.
The big names would be appearing after him to close the show; it was a terrible slot.
Yet Matthew harbored no complaints—the timing matched his current status perfectly.
He knew Hollywood was a Vanity Fair where actors and stars were ranked in strict tiers. Had he not played the Barbarian Leader, even with Helen Herman's connections inside the Crew, he probably would not have set foot on this premiere red carpet.
At last, amid the chaotic shouting of fans, the black cadillac stopped in the parking area at the end of the red carpet.
Through the window he saw reporters aiming their cameras. Matthew adjusted his bow tie, pushed the door open and stepped out. Flashbulbs exploded, dazzlingly bright; he merely blinked, flashed the radiant smile he had practiced countless times in the mirror, and strode forward on long, straight legs onto the slightly springy carpet.
Thanks to that grueling military training, he had almost completely corrected his once-casual gait. Coupled with an impeccably tailored suit, he radiated presence.
'Who's that?'
At the photo area at the carpet's end, Fattus, a reporter from the Los Angeles Times entertainment section, kept his lens locked on Matthew. Finding the man exceptionally photogenic, he asked the colleague to his left, 'Know who he is? Some European model?'
'Definitely not a European model!'
Before the questioned reporter could answer, a Female Reporter on Fattus's right cut in, 'Most of those European male models are GAY!'
She pointed toward Matthew. 'Where do you see that kind of cold, powerful masculinity on them?'
The Female Reporter, clearly admiring him, murmured, 'Long legs, broad shoulders, ram-rod posture, chiseled features, stern expression, commanding aura… he's the god of my dreams…'
While muttering, she never stopped shooting, snapping a huge burst of photos.
'I know him,' said the reporter on Fattus's left from Entertainment Weekly, recalling the recent publicity they had run with the band of brothers Crew. 'His name should be Matthew Horner. Not a model—a newly debuted young actor. Had gossip with Britney, acted in band of brothers produced by Tom Hanks and Steven Spielberg, and apparently has a part in Gladiator…'
'Sounds like a solid résumé,' Fattus remarked, raising his camera again toward Matthew. 'Seems like a promising young actor.'
Reporters around them lifted their cameras and fired off another round of shots.
That period of military training had paid off richly; with his natural assets, Matthew looked every inch the leading man on the red carpet.
The fans' reaction, however, was lukewarm. Hollywood has never lacked for handsome men and women; the only yardstick for their enthusiasm is fame.
Compared with those who had gone before, Matthew was a nobody.
Still, he walked the carpet slowly—just like the actor ahead of him. Such opportunities were rare, so he wanted to linger, draw more fan attention, give the press extra shots. Without shuffling inch by inch, he moved slower than a stroll, waving to either side regardless of the response, flashing a warm, natural smile whenever he spotted a flashbulb.
Crying and laughing are an actor's basic skills.
About a third of the way along, he spotted fans on the left holding up a Barbarian Leader promo poster. Remembering what Helen Herman had told him yesterday, he quickly walked over.
There were seven or eight young fans, three or four of them holding different posters.
As they saw Matthew walking toward them, they all looked blank—clearly none of them knew who he was.
A sudden cheer erupted at the far end of the red carpet. The seven or eight of them were only mildly startled, but the people around them all turned to look; someone with a bit of fame had clearly stepped onto the carpet.
When Matthew drew closer, those same young fans were still in a daze. One quick-witted girl hurriedly pulled out a pen and thrust it at him, sparing him a nearly imperceptible moment of awkwardness.
A boy beside her handed over a notebook. Matthew unscrewed the pen, signed his name, pointed at the Barbarian poster and said, "That's me."
"Oh…" the girl answered absently.
The rest, still unsure what was going on, nevertheless passed their notebooks to him one after another.
The fan holding the Barbarian Leader poster even held it out in front of Matthew. He signed it in turn; his handwriting was poor, the letters crooked, but movie-star autographs are basically chicken-scratch anyway, and the scrawl looked oddly distinctive.
Matthew returned the pen to the girl, gave her a smiling nod, and turned back onto the red carpet.
"Who was that?" the fan with the Barbarian poster asked the girl. "Never seen him before."
The girl closed her autograph book and shook her head. "No idea who he is.
The seven of them promptly forgot Matthew existed, swiveling to watch another actor approaching. "Joaquin! Joaquin! Joaquin!" they shouted.
Hearing the rising chorus behind him, Matthew glanced back. He'd seen the man on the Gladiator set—second only to Russell Crowe in that production: Joaquin Phoenix.
Matthew kept his pace deliberately slow; the longer he stayed in front of fans and cameras, the better for his exposure.
After another dozen meters, a staffer in charge of crowd control, having received instructions through his earpiece, quietly stepped over.
He moved closer and murmured, "Sir, please pick up the pace."
Matthew's skin was thick enough; his sunny grin never wavered. Showing not a flicker of embarrassment, he acted as if he hadn't heard, but did quicken his stride.
Being nudged along once was quite enough.
Soon he reached the press area, where reporters showed little interest; most were waiting for Joaquin Phoenix to arrive.
"Matthew Horner!"
A woman's ringing voice cut through the pack. "Over here! Over here!"
Reflexively Matthew turned and smiled. Flashbulbs popped, and an exceptionally tall woman squeezed out of the scrum.
It was Elena Boyar.
Seeing her, a handful of journalists drifted over, but most stayed planted near the entrance, clearly waiting for Joaquin Phoenix.
Matthew felt a twinge of envy, not resentment; Joaquin Phoenix outclassed him in every way—they weren't even in the same league.
"How does your first premiere red carpet feel?" Elena asked, holding a small recorder toward him.
With other reporters around, Matthew answered earnestly, grinning, "Thrilling! Special! Absolutely electrifying!"
Because he'd dawdled so long, Joaquin Phoenix now entered the interview zone; those reporters promptly abandoned Matthew and rushed over.
Not just them—Elena gave Matthew a shrug. "I've got to chase the big story."
Matthew nodded. "Go for it."
She too joined the circle around Joaquin Phoenix.
After a glance that way, Matthew didn't linger. He strode into Grauman's Chinese Theatre. His part was too small, his name too unknown, for the studio to include him in the customary group photo. A staffer led him straight into the auditorium.
His seat was in the third row—half filled with minor cast members, half with invited guests.
Those actors, like Matthew, had skipped the photo call and sat waiting for the film to roll.
On the guest side, many seats were already taken by vaguely familiar faces, but with people between them, Matthew couldn't move over to network. Seeing no one he knew, he visited the restroom, returned, and simply sat down to wait.
This was his second film. Unlike his first—where he'd been a five-second extra—here he actually had a bit of presence..