After the audition ended, removing his makeup and changing back into his own clothes, Matthew left Disney Studios with Helen Herman. Both knew the Crew wouldn't give notice until Will Turner's costume test was finished—fortunately, the wait wouldn't be long.
"I just got word," Helen said on the drive back. "Geoffrey Rush has accepted the Crew's invitation—he'll almost certainly play the big villain, Captain Barbossa."
Matthew had seen the name on the tapes David Astor gave him. "The Oscar winner from a few years ago?"
"1997 Oscar winner," Helen replied. "One of Hollywood's real acting heavyweights."
"Hmm." Matthew merely nodded; he didn't know the man. "Whoever the villain is, all I care about is landing the part of Will Turner."
Helen figured he was right—if Matthew didn't get the role, there was no point worrying whether an Oscar winner might squeeze his future paycheck.
They could revisit the topic once the audition results were official.
"Do you have a suitable candidate for a personal assistant?" Helen asked. "Want me to recruit one?"
Matthew shook his head. "No need." He wouldn't let his personal assistant come from the Agent side. "I'm looking into it."
A likely choice was Mira Wang, who'd assisted him on set. He'd called her, but she'd returned to the UK for now and wasn't sure about coming back to Los Angeles.
He'd wait. No word on the audition yet; once the role was confirmed, if Mira wanted to return, they could talk. If not, he'd find someone else reliable.
Only as a last resort would he let his PA become the Agent's person.
He hadn't attended college, but he knew the basic rule: never drop your guard. His lawyer came through Helen, his Stylist was recommended by Helen; if his PA were also close to her, Helen would know his every move.
It wasn't about targeting Helen—just basic self-protection. He'd heard of Agents teaming up with stars' assistants to screw the star.
Besides the PA, he wouldn't let Helen touch the accountant who handled taxes and finances. When a better option appeared, he'd even replace the Stylist.
That Stylist served other clients; a fully private Stylist was still too extravagant.
Back at Angel Talent Agency, Matthew didn't switch cars right away. He followed Helen to her office—he had questions.
"Helen." Matthew poured himself water. "I hear some companies have sent endorsement offers?"
"Yep." Helen opened a drawer and tossed several invitations on the desk. "All bottom-tier brands. You want to shoot ads for KFC or McDonald's? That clashes completely with how I'm positioning you; later on they'd drag down your cachet."
Matthew flipped through them—mostly low-end North American fast-food chains or no-name products, even something like Indian miracle oil. Was this fallout from last month's tabloid hype about his supposedly amazing virility?
He wasn't a rookie anymore; he knew few rising stars would shill for junk-food peddlers.
"Reject them all." He'd passed the stage of needing cash just to survive—he didn't want the gigs anyway.
It was for the sake of bigger future earnings.
Those chains were perennial scandal magnets; the money would be modest, and they'd only become dead-weight teammates on his climb.
Helen casually threw the invitations back into the drawer. "When a suitable brand comes along, I'll let you know." She added, "You're only a C-lister, and even A-listers rarely land top-tier endorsements here, but you still have to be picky."
Matthew ignored the rest. "I'm still a C-lister?"
"What do you think?" Helen Herman said bluntly. "Besides one film, do you have any other lead roles? One hundred million in North America, two hundred million worldwide—solid numbers. Strictly speaking, you're hovering just above the third tier and knocking on the door of the second. But you need another hit to prove you can carry that weight."
She reminded Matthew, "After the film left theaters, did any media still follow you?"
"None." Matthew spread his hands. "The paparazzi haven't trailed me in ages."
Helen Herman replied, "That proves the point—you're not enough of a draw. Media is the channel that mints stars."
"If I land Will Turner..." Matthew drained his glass, pulled out a chair, and sat opposite Helen Herman. "If it's a hit, I'll crack the second tier, right?"
Helen Herman nodded. "Absolutely. If the role pops and the film clears a billion worldwide, you'll jump straight to the A-list."
Matthew thought about his own acting, then about that weirdo Johnny Depp. Even if he got Will Turner, could he outshine Captain Jack Sparrow? Forget it—though Johnny Depp isn't hailed for raw skill, the unhinged, off-beat Jack Sparrow might as well have been stitched onto his skin.
Acting-wise, he'd never beat Johnny Depp.
At that, Matthew chuckled. The audition wasn't even decided yet; worrying about this was premature.
He asked Helen Herman, "So what about super-A? How do you become a top Hollywood megastar?"
Without hesitation she said, "Go flip through the résumés of Tom Hanks, Tom Cruise, and Julia Roberts."
Matthew shrugged, glanced at the wall clock, stood, and said, "If there's nothing else, I'm off."
Leaving Angel Talent Agency, Matthew drove straight home. Today's audition had scrapped his usual routine; the fitness club had already been notified.
Unlike a month earlier, no paparazzi or reporters tailed him. As Helen Herman had said, once the film left theaters, he simply wasn't that interesting to the press.
After all, this was Los Angeles—stars are everywhere.
Matthew knew he needed a new hit to cement his current standing and push higher; this could be the best shot.
He recalled that this franchise had been a smash, spawning sequel after sequel and turning Johnny Depp from a fringe oddity into a top Hollywood megastar—globally famous and raking in cash.
For its leads, the series was a money-printing machine. If he secured Will Turner, his future would be set; even if later projects faltered, he could live off the franchise—and the paychecks would be handsome.
There's a Hollywood saying: if you want to get rich, sign on for the sequel.
Lounging on the sofa, eyeing the scorpion king sword on the wall, Matthew stopped overthinking. The screen test was done; now he could only wait.
He believed his performance had impressed Jerry Bruckheimer.
Captain Jack Sparrow was a sissy—neither fully masculine nor feminine, more on the effeminate side. Orlando Bloom skewed the same way; the two roles could blur into an odd sameness.
Even a casual fan could see that two male leads mirroring each other played weaker than pairing softness with toughness, brains with brawn.
Matthew figured his analysis held water; after three-plus years, he understood acting and the business far better.
The wait dragged. Casting had promised an answer this week, yet Friday arrived with no word. Even Matthew grew restless; Helen Herman had contacts check, only to hear that Jerry Bruckheimer still hadn't decided.
With Jude Law bowing out and Tobey Maguire just going through the motions, Matthew worried the unknown Christopher Masterson might snag the part.
If so, all his scheming to pair Orlando Bloom with Stephen Sommers would hand the prize to someone else.
Luckily, the worst didn't happen. Near four o'clock Friday, the casting director phoned personally: he'd passed the audition and landed Will Turner.
Matthew exhaled, feeling a long-term safety net snap into place—not just security, but the freedom to live well.
Of course, ambition wasn't about to retire.
Minutes later Helen Herman called: starting Monday she'd begin negotiating his actor's deal.