Inside the changing room, Duff Villa and the other two showered, changed, but didn't leave; they sat together chatting.
'Why does Matthew Horner get the biggest changing room all to himself?' the hulking Clark Bernard rumbled. 'The three of us are crammed into this tiny one?'
Duff Villa shrugged. 'Because he's the lead actor; we're supporting cast.' He sat cross-legged on the wooden bench. 'At Angel Talent Agency he's the top client they're pushing. Whatever's left after he picks through the resources, we get.'
'Angel Talent Agency is a small shop,' Steven Brand said, still dead-serious. 'Resources are scarce and they all come from Helen Herman. By the time the others finish, what's left for us is scraps.'
'This time's not bad,' Duff Villa said, looking satisfied. 'A major supporting role in a mid-budget production.'
Steven Brand said nothing, turning to glance at the changing room next door that Matthew Horner used alone.
Duff Villa wiped the faintly sleazy grin off his face and patted Steven Brand's shoulder. 'Clark and I are fine—our styles are totally different from Matthew Horner's. It's a pity about you, though; you're the same type as him.'
Steven Brand still didn't speak. He followed Duff Villa and Clark Bernard out of the changing room.
The three of them took an electric cart to the Warner Bros. Studio gate, just in time to see a dozen reporters and paparazzi swarm around Matthew Horner. Envy flickered in their eyes.
A single leading role had turned Matthew Horner from a nobody into someone the media noticed... After fielding the reporters calmly, Matthew slipped away, ducked into his ford and drove straight home. Mira Wang had already declined his invitation and left earlier.
Once he merged onto Interstate 5, Matthew spotted a motorcycle in the rear-view mirror—probably a paparazzo. He ignored it. Thanks to the film's early publicity push, media attention had spiked, but he knew most of it came from the studio's spend and Universal Pictures' $40 million budget, not from any personal fame.
If the box office bombed, it would all be smoke and mirrors. To truly be known, he had to succeed.
From an actor's standpoint, all he could do was perform his own scenes as well as possible; everything else was out of his hands.
Direction, editing, effects, scoring—none of it was something the lead actor could influence.
In that sense, his fate was once again in other people's hands.
After the lunch break, Matthew went to Angel Talent Agency and discussed the issue with Helen Herman.
'Most actors are in the same boat,' Helen Herman said, as if it were the most natural thing. 'It's not just actors—many directors face the same problem. The final cut can be miles from what they envisioned; some of their favorite shots never make it to the screen.'
Matthew poured himself a glass of water. 'is there no solution?'
Helen Herman glanced at him. 'The fix is simple: get big enough, become a box-office draw, and producers will respect your opinion.' She thought for a moment and gave an example. 'Take Tom Cruise. Since the mid-nineties he's been a producer on his own films—and not just in name. When he works with Paramount Pictures, everyone from the producers to the director and the rest of the cast follows his lead.'
'Feels galaxies away from me,' Matthew said, not believing he could reach Tom Cruise's level anytime soon. 'No other way?'
'There is one,' Helen Herman continued. 'Like the project you were in—Vin Diesel brought in a mountain of money, so the whole production had to respect his opinion. Even when everyone knew he was a set-wrecking pain, they had to watch him stir the pot.'
Matthew spread his hands in resignation. That option felt equally remote; if he could attract that kind of financing, he wouldn't still be struggling for recognition.
'What you need to do now is choose the right roles and scripts,' Helen Herman said. 'Worry about the rest later.'
She stood up and added solemnly, 'Once you're a star, you'll have the clout to demand power.'
Matthew drained his glass. 'The supporting actors you recommended to the production don't look like pushovers.'
Helen Herman didn't deny it. 'They want to be Hollywood Stars, just like you.' She suddenly asked, 'Do you have a problem with them?'
Matthew answered deliberately, 'If I did, I'd have asked you to replace them already!'
"Replace them?" Helen Herman folded her arms, looking at Matthew. "It's pointless—swap in a few more and they'll still have it in for you."
Matthew thought for a moment, then gave a slight nod; Helen Herman had a point.
"The resources Angel Agency and I control are limited," Helen Herman went on. "The best of them will always go to you first. The rest get scraps. Whoever lands in the Crew will still think the lead actor's in their way."
"You're absolutely right." Matthew wasn't joking. "Helen, you always manage to convince me."
"Because I'm telling you facts you can't deny." Helen Herman tilted her head. "Those guys are small fry with a bit of cunning. If you can't handle them, don't bother staying in this business."
Matthew set down his glass, ready to leave. "Right, I'm off to collect my money.
That was the real reason he'd come: thanks to turnover in Angel Agency's finance department, the two-hundred-thousand-dollar paycheck still hadn't been signed for.
"Remember what I said!" Helen Herman reminded him. "Bring your A-game on set. Don't forget—Stephen Sommers and Universal Pictures have a colossal production coming up!"
Matthew knew she meant the monster-mash movie. Walking out, he waved. "I haven't forgotten."
If he hadn't already seen that film—and kept the memory—he'd fight tooth-and-nail for the lead. A project with a possible budget north of a hundred and fifty million dollars, after all.
In this day and age, that was Hollywood-royalty-level money; countless people would kill for the chance.
Should he leap into the pit? He was torn. A shot at headlining a tent-pole was rare, yet his memories warned it could be a crater he'd never climb out of.
Put plainly, Matthew clung to a scrap of hope: if he joined, maybe he could tilt the odds—maybe it would succeed. He didn't need a smash; a simple profit would smooth his path forward... Reaching the finance-office door, he made up his mind. The monster mash was still only a file on Stephen Sommers's and Universal's desks; actual prep would take ages. He'd finish his current job first.
Besides, Stephen Sommers might not even want him—his fame and chops were middling at best.
He knocked, signed the papers, and watched the accountant wire a hundred and eighty thousand—after the Agent's cut—into his bank. Having money again felt great; he walked taller.
No choice—reality bites, and empty pockets sap confidence.
Another two hundred thousand would arrive once shooting started. Time, he figured, for a hardware upgrade—especially his car. The used ford was ancient and ready for retirement.
He'd planned it for ages. If cash had been easier, he'd have swapped rides long ago. On breaks he'd browse new models online for fun; he'd already picked the one he wanted.
Leaving Angel Agency, Matthew drove straight to a BMW dealership near North Hollywood and drove off in the brand-new X5—the first generation of the SUV he used to dream about.
The old ford? He traded it in for twenty-five hundred dollars without a second glance.
The rest of the cash he stashed away for a rainy day.
He felt zero discomfort vaulting from a clunky ford to a luxury X5; the money was hard-earned and meant to be enjoyed.
Wasn't this the life he'd come to Hollywood for in the first place?
Crass, perhaps—utterly so—but he'd never claimed lofty artistic ideals. Like every other Hollywood Star, he craved the bright lights.
Otherwise, what was the hustle for? To become a great artist? Matthew knew he lacked both the talent and, more importantly, the desire.
The following weeks: mornings in training, afternoons studying the role, evenings rehearsing choreography with other actors. The minor players Helen had mentioned kept quiet—after all, the producers backed him as the lead.
Not until early September, with prep nearly done and shooting imminent, did word reach him that Britney was back in Los Angeles. One track on her upcoming album had copyright issues; after filming its video she'd stayed in Nashville to re-record, and only now—finished—was she home for a very short break.