Standing at the entrance of Angel Talent Agency, Matthew faced the seven or eight reporters in front of him without the slightest intention of dodging. He let them fire questions at will. Universal Pictures had informed Helen Herman at noon, and he had watched the Rex Reed interview clips broadcast by NBC Television Station and online, so he knew he needed to echo Rex Reed's remarks.
He had no personal grudge against Rex Reed; it was all for publicity.
Judging from the early reactions, the hype was working brilliantly.
Matthew was beginning to see that, in an era before the internet truly exploded, the public didn't know much about Hollywood's promotional tricks and was still relatively easy to sway by this kind of stunt.
Looking at the reporters, he knew exactly what they wanted to ask.
'Matthew Horner…' A short male reporter stepped forward first. 'is it true you mailed a donkey to Rex Reed?'
'Yes.' Matthew admitted, then added, 'Didn't he say he wanted to kiss a donkey's butt? I picked one out just for him.'
A Female Reporter followed up. 'This morning Rex Reed said that if the scorpion king doesn't make ten million dollars on its opening weekend, he'll send the donkey back and make you kiss its rear.'
Matthew couldn't show weakness now; he had to play along with the film's publicity. Full of confidence, he said, 'I don't mind betting with him! I believe in the Crew and in the movie!'
Having said everything he needed to, he got into the car and left without lingering.
Wednesday passed, and early Thursday the spat between Matthew and Rex Reed appeared in numerous entertainment outlets, sparking a minor craze. Interest in the scorpion king kept climbing. Although its Rotten Tomatoes score had slipped to 63 percent after the review embargo lifted, the film remained highly buzz-worthy.
Some professional research firms even predicted that the scorpion king's opening weekend could break the thirty-million-dollar barrier.
They cited two reasons: first, April's release window lacked any strong competitors; second, the marketing campaign had been outstanding.
Whether the forecasts were accurate would be clear from the Thursday-night previews.
Thursday evening, the scorpion king began its North American rollout in nearly 3,300 theaters with advance screenings. Under North America's accounting rules, those previews count toward the opening-weekend gross.
The preview gross is essentially a barometer for the weekend.
Late at night, in Angel Talent Agency's office, Helen Herman stood before a huge window, silently gazing at the Burbank skyline.
Not far behind her, Matthew lounged on a sofa, playing Tetris on his phone.
He glanced at the wall clock: after midnight, the preview numbers should arrive soon. He looked over at Helen Herman; the female Agent stood motionless, her slim silhouette like a sculpture.
Matthew took a deep breath to smother his impatience and resumed the game, but his trembling fingers kept mis-tapping, and the round ended in seconds.
How could anyone stay calm at a moment that would decide their future?
He exhaled again and pocketed the phone.
Helen seemed to sense it, turned to glance at him, then faced the window once more. Behind her old black-rimmed glasses her face was cool and expressionless.
Tonight would determine her strategy toward Matthew Horner from now on.
Two years of investment; if she couldn't even mint a minor star, the man had no future and could be discarded.
If the gamble paid off, she could leverage two more blockbusters and raise Angel Talent Agency a bona-fide second-tier—maybe even first-tier—superstar client.
She knew Matthew Horner had natural assets,
but no one could guarantee that assets alone spell success.
After pocketing his phone, Matthew walked over and joined her at the window. He knew exactly what Helen Herman was thinking; whether they'd stand here together again depended on tonight.
Of course, that was what a professional Agent did; any other Agent would make the same choice.
They stood side by side for a full fifteen minutes; still no call came.
Restlessness surged again. 'Are you sure you told Sean Daniel to call as soon as the preliminary numbers come in, not to wait for the final tally?'
Across the country theaters are linked to a single network, so daily grosses come in fast—usually soon after midnight. Preliminary figures arrive first, with final numbers the next morning or noon.
Helen glanced at him but said nothing.
'Should we phone and ask?' Matthew muttered.
His future hinged on this; the dull wait was unbearable.
"If you want to call..." Helen Herman glanced toward her desk, "the phone's right there, and you've got Sean Daniel's number."
Matthew didn't go to the desk; he pulled out his cell, hesitating over whether to dial Sean Daniel.
Helen Herman's phone suddenly rang. Matthew watched her answer and pocketed his own phone, turning his attention to her.
"Hi, it's me." Helen Herman's expression never changed. After a moment she said, "All right, got it. Thanks for waiting so late to let me know."
She hung up and tucked the phone away.
Matthew had been staring at her; now he saw her face relax behind the dark-rimmed glasses. "How much?" he blurted.
Helen Herman said flatly, "Preliminary tally: 3.4 million. The final figure won't be off by more than a hundred grand.
The 3.4 million made Matthew exhale for real. Helen had already analyzed it: spin-offs like the scorpion king, riding the mummy brand, always open a bit higher in previews. Add those previews to the first-day total and the multiplier is usually three-to-five. Outside rare exceptions, Hollywood's rule holds.
Even at just three times, it would hit or pass ten million.
Ten million on day one means the weekend is almost locked for twenty million plus.
By that math, even if it collapses later, the scorpion king should still reach its forty-million production cost in North America. With overseas these days, global box-office alone could pay it back.
If that happens, the film is a success, and the lead actor's stock rockets.
All that assumed the picture tanks after opening day. If it merely stays steady—no Saturday plunge—then... this is more than sweet.
He'd jump straight to B-list, out of the bottom of Hollywood's pyramid and into a much higher tier.
"Congratulations, Matthew." Helen broke his daydream. "You're getting close."
"Heh." Matthew grinned, shameless. "Told you—I'm born to be a star. Backing me was the right call, wasn't it?"
Helen ignored him. She knew Matthew: proud but never reckless.
She sniffed. "Get ready. Your life's about to flip."
Matthew had waited for this. His smile vanished. "I'm ready."
Helen eyed him. "Hope so." She left the window, sat, and added, "We're renewing—three-year max term."
Matthew nodded. "Fine. We'll hammer out the details."
Success was in sight, but he still needed Angel Agency. With the scorpion king set to hit, he'd be their undisputed top client; every resource Helen and the company had would flow to him first.
Jump to a big firm and he'd be one of many; jump small and he'd lose clout. Staying put was smarter.
"Our old deal runs to year-end, so no rush." Helen offered, "Sign the three-year extension and my commission drops from ten percent to eight."
"Got it." Matthew headed for the door. "I feel the love, Helen.
He pulled it open, ready to leave. "Get some sleep; late nights give you circles even those glasses can't hide."
Helen, in rare high spirits, shot back, "Don't celebrate yet—tomorrow's attendance is still a question mark. Anything can happen.
Matthew turned, hand on the knob. "You know better—the odds of that are basically zero."
The door shut. Alone, Helen slipped off her glasses and laughed—uncontrollably, delightedly.
She was finally about to make her career happen.