'Universal Pictures and Yahoo Entertainment ran a joint online poll,'
In the moving car, the Agent looked at Brendan Fraser and said, 'They listed five main characters—Evelyn, O'Connell, Imhotep, Alex, and the scorpion king—and let Internet users pick their favorite.
Brendan Fraser's face stayed tight. 'Who's on top?'
'Right now, Evelyn's first,' the Agent said, not waiting for another question. 'the scorpion king is second.'
'And O'Connell?' Brendan Fraser asked.
The Agent answered straight, 'Currently dead last out of the five.'
Brendan Fraser was stunned. 'Behind even Imhotep and Alex? Are they rigging this?'
'Probably not. Brendan, you have to take this seriously—show Universal Pictures what you're worth!'
Brendan Fraser's face was still taut. He waved a hand. 'I know.'
The car threaded through busy Las Vegas streets and stopped at the Luxor Hotel, where tonight the Crew was holding a fan-and-media event. Outside Caesars Palace, crowds of fans had gathered, and reporters with cameras waited on the steps.
As they drew closer, Brendan Fraser could clearly hear the fans' near-frantic shouting.
The car stopped; a staffer opened the door. Brendan Fraser stepped out and walked along a short, narrow red carpet toward the hotel entrance. Because this was a fan meet-and-greet, the carpet was slim, fans pressed close on both sides—exactly what the Crew intended, to bridge the gap between movie and audience.
The moment Brendan Fraser set foot on the carpet, fans thrust notebooks and pens at him for autographs.
Even if O'Connell wasn't polling well, he was still a bona-fide star.
Seeing a notebook pushed in front of him, Brendan Fraser reached for it—then spotted the fan wearing a scorpion king T-shirt. His mood soured; he left the notebook untouched and strode toward the entrance.
'Brendan…'
'Over here, Brendan!'
'I love O'Connell—please sign!'
As a star with real pull, Brendan Fraser still had plenty of supporters.
But he was in a foul mood, ignoring the fans completely as he marched inside.
'What's with him?' a fan near the front pulled back a notebook almost knocked aside. 'Such a temper? Thinks he's too big for us?'
Someone beside him muttered, 'Famous now—doesn't care about fans anymore.'
Many fans were clearly unhappy with Brendan Fraser's attitude.
Just as he neared the entrance, another sedan pulled up at the carpet.
Matthew gazed out the window. Along the way he'd seen miniature replicas of world landmarks; it was his first time in Vegas, and the famous gambling city fascinated him.
Passing Caesars Palace and MGM, he'd wondered if he might try his luck at the tables after the event.
A staffer opened the door. Matthew straightened his shirt collar, stepped out, and faced the Luxor Hotel—shaped like a pyramid, complete with a replica Sphinx in front. Clearly a deliberate choice by the Crew.
'the scorpion king is here!'
'the scorpion king looks so cool!'
Matthew glanced along the carpet: hundreds of fans, many holding posters—plenty featuring the scorpion king.
He flashed the bright, practiced smile he'd perfected in acting class, waved in his sunniest, most charming, friendliest way, and strode onto the carpet.
Seeing fans carrying his poster put him in an excellent mood.
The instant he entered the fan area, someone held out a pen and notebook. 'Matthew, can I have your autograph?'
Matthew noticed the fan's scorpion king T-shirt, quickly took the items, and smiled. 'Of course.'
He scrawled his bold signature across the page.
More notebooks followed; he signed each one patiently, keeping his warm, natural smile the whole time.
He savored the moment—so many fans queuing for his autograph, a satisfaction beyond words.
'Thank you, Matthew!' A female fan opened her arms; he gave her a light hug. 'You were amazing as the scorpion king—I loved it!'
'Thank you… thank you…'
Matthew stayed modest, every inch the grateful star.
A star like that was always going to be a bigger hit with the fans on the carpet, and Matthew practically signed autographs all the way to the hotel.
"Matthew! Matthew Horner!"
A shout came from the crowd. "Over here—look this way!"
Matthew turned; a flash fired, and someone called, "Can you come over for a picture with us?"
"Sure."
He stepped to the edge of the carpet, slipped between a handful of fans, and waited patiently while one of them handed off a camera and snapped the shot.
On the hotel steps Brendan Fraser was giving interviews, smiling for the press, but every few seconds the clamor from the rope line made him glance back—Matthew Horner basking in the cheers, looking for all the world like the belle of the ball.
Those same fans had barely given him the time of day when he'd walked past.
Brendan Fraser's brow creased.
A tall blonde reporter had been watching him; she stepped forward, recorder raised. "Mr. Fraser, I'm Elena Boyar from Yahoo Entertainment. the scorpion king has been the breakout favorite—most viewers say he's the best part of the movie—"
Elena shot him a look—rough-edged but sharp—and pressed on. "What do you think of Matthew Horner, the man under the scorpion king make-up?"
More cheers erupted below the steps—chants of "Matthew Horner" and "Scorpion King" mixing together.
"I hardly know him," Brendan said, refusing the bait, but Elena wasn't done. "At the premiere you called each other friends."
"Friends with an actor like that?" Brendan snapped.
The press pack fell silent; Elena smelled blood. "So you think he's bad? There's bad blood between you?"
Brendan realized he'd stepped in it.
Elena leaned in. "is it because the scorpion king stole the lead's thunder? Are you angry at Matthew Horner?"
Brendan turned without a word and headed inside. Elena called after him, "No comment? So that's a yes?"
He glanced back but stayed silent.
"I'll take that as confirmation!"
Reporters stared at Elena—this woman was a one-woman storm; tomorrow's headlines just wrote themselves.
"Brendan Fraser throws star tantrum, looks down on newcomer Matthew Horner…"
"Matthew Horner's Scorpion King wows fans, sparks Brendan Fraser jealousy!"
In seconds half the room had their ledes ready.
Elena stepped aside, checked a text, and started framing her own story.
Ten minutes later Matthew walked into the event, same easy grin, greeting Rachel Weisz, Arnold Vosloo, and Brendan Fraser like old pals.
The first two were cordial, but Matthew could tell they'd already heard the whispers—one eyeing awards season, the other whose character wouldn't rise from the dead again, neither worried about sequels.
Brendan made it obvious: a curt grunt when Matthew said hello, all his earlier bonhomie gone.
The main segment was fan Q&A—audience questions, cast answers.
Whether from the earlier snub or pure mood, few hands rose for Brendan; the crowd aimed every question at Rachel or Matthew. By the end Brendan was practically invisible.
The cold shoulder darkened his mood; before the session finished he muttered an excuse and left early.
After the program fans swarmed the stage for autographs and selfies; Matthew obliged every one, still signing long after Rachel and Arnold had slipped away.
In the greenroom outside, Rachel Weisz and Arnold Vosloo kept one eye on the stage while packing their things.