Chapter 4 |
A yellow taxi pulled up to a four-story building on Hollywood Boulevard. Matthew paid the fare, stepped out, and pulled out his phone to check that he still had plenty of time. He then strolled toward the building's facade, where the most striking feature before the entrance was a penguin sculpture painted bright red. Above it, a small brass plaque was engraved with bold letters: "Red Penguin Services."
Matthew recalled the necessary details and entered the small building, where a pleasant-looking clerk immediately appeared behind the reception desk. She was about to greet him but stopped short when she realized she was looking at a familiar face.
"Hello," Matthew greeted her casually. "I have an appointment with Mr. Lister."
The clerk nodded, a bit hesitantly, and said, "He should be in his office."
Matthew climbed the stairs and soon found himself before an office on the third floor. He knocked confidently on the door, and when a voice from inside called out, "Come in," he pushed the door open and stepped inside.
"Well, well, look who it is! Our very own Hollywood star!" a voice immediately rang out, dripping with sarcasm. "So, superstar, made enough money to throw a wild party?"
There were three men in the office. The one who had spoken was a bald black man; the other two were a heavyset man and a tall, thin, middle-aged man.
The heavyset man chimed in, "When's the premiere for that movie you're in? Don't forget to let us know. We'll definitely be there to support you."
"But listen, Matthew." The bald man had particularly small eyes that always narrowed into thin slits when he looked at people.
At that, he couldn't hold it in any longer and burst out laughing. The heavyset man also guffawed, lightly slapping the desk with one hand as if he'd just heard the funniest thing in the world.
The tall, thin man said nothing, but a faint smile played on his lips.
Ignoring the heavyset man and the bald man, Matthew walked straight to the tall, thin man's desk and said respectfully, "Mr. Lister, I'm here, just as I promised."
Lister nodded.
"I really regret not listening to you." Matthew knew it was important to stroke Lister's ego, since this was the man who supervised the company's drivers. "I made a mistake, but I hope you'll give me another chance."
"Of course, kid," Lister said with a wide grin. "But I hope you've learned your lesson about getting mixed up with 'agents' who make you shady offers."
Matthew nodded earnestly. "Yes, I understand completely."
Lister added, "Learn to see people for who they really are."
Matthew kept nodding. "Yes."
Seeing Matthew's compliant demeanor, Lister continued, "You used to be a hard worker. Now, with the stock market booming, all those bastards have quit to go gamble on stocks that could turn into toilet paper any second. The company's short-staffed, so I'm giving you another chance."
"Thank you!" Matthew knew full well that being short-staffed was the real reason he was being rehired. "I'll definitely work hard."
Lister pulled two forms from a drawer, took a pen and scribbled something on them, made a quick phone call, and then handed the forms to Matthew. "Go get your paperwork redone."
Matthew took the forms and hurried down to the first floor to complete the rehiring process.
Since Matthew had worked here before, it took him less than half an hour to finish the paperwork. He returned to the third floor, ready to speak with Lister before heading out to find a place to live, planning to start work the next day.
"No need to wait until tomorrow." Instead of dismissing Matthew, Lister tossed him a set of car keys. "You start tonight. Any questions?"
Matthew, of course, didn't refuse. "No problem."
Next, Lister handed him a dozen or so sheets of paper. "We're short-staffed right now. This should cover you for a few days."
"I'm always ready," Matthew said, looking eager.
Lister nodded in satisfaction. "Jonny Lee Miller is a heavyweight client, and he's the one we're handling tonight."
Then Lister gave Matthew a few more instructions.
Matthew left the third floor and went outside to grab some cheap, random food. Afterward, he headed to the drivers' lounge on the first floor to review the specific details of his assignment. Unlike how he remembered it, the lounge was empty. It seemed the company really was severely short-staffed.
He sat down in one of the chairs, opened the folder, and read through it carefully
— after all, this was about tonight's work.
It wasn't complicated, and relatively straightforward: the company's heavyweight client, Jonny Lee Miller, was throwing a party at his beach house in Malibu—a super-party attended by the elite.
His job was to pick up female models with business connections to the company from various locations around Los Angeles in the afternoon, drop them off in Malibu, and then bring them back the next morning.
Closing the file and connecting this information with the memories in his head, Matthew realized that these "female models" were, in a sense, high-class prostitutes.
Red Penguin Services offered party services while also moonlighting in something akin to pimping on the side.
The company was short on drivers, and he suspected it wasn't just because of the stock market boom. The so-called "boom" was driven by speculation, something unrelated to this line of work. The truth was, anyone with other options or skills would be reluctant to do such dirty work.
But right now, he didn't have the money to be picky.
After spending some time in the drivers' lounge and putting his papers away, Matthew headed to the underground parking garage, got into a Ford, and drove up the ramp to the street.
At first, he drove cautiously, but after a short while, he grew more confident. His predecessor's memories seemed to have become completely his own; whenever he needed one, the relevant memory would surface instantly.
Matthew drove west, having planned his route: pick up one person in Westwood, then the other five in North Hollywood, and finally drive them all to the exclusive, beach-lined district of Malibu.
Entering the Westwood area, the Ford turned left and soon pulled up in front of a small, beautiful two-story house with a yard. Matthew looked at the spacious property and let out a long sigh. When would he ever be able to live in a house like this?
He honked the horn, and a few seconds later, the door of the small house opened. A blonde girl in shorts and a T-shirt came out and waved at him through the yard's iron fence.
"Give me ten minutes!" the girl shouted.
Matthew rolled down his window and gave her an "OK" gesture.
The girl was punctual. As soon as ten minutes had passed, she emerged with a large bag and slid into the seat right next to Matthew.
"Hi." She seemed sunny and cheerful. "I'm Rachel."
"I'm Matthew."
Matthew turned his head to look at her: the girl had long, light brown hair, a figure suited for formal wear, a slim waist, and long legs. By all accounts, she was prettier and more vibrant than the blonde he had seen that morning.
Starting the car and pulling out onto the road to North Hollywood, Matthew focused on driving, but the girl beside him started a conversation.
"Are you new here?" Rachel asked him curiously.
"Why haven't I seen you before? I use Red Penguin Services a lot."
Matthew slowly increased the car's speed. "I used to cover other parts of the city."
The old Matthew had been responsible for pickups in other parts of the city.
For the entire drive, Rachel kept her eyes on Matthew. "I wonder why a handsome guy like you is working as a simple driver."
"I need money," Matthew said flatly. "Just money."
Rachel smiled, and a moment later, she offered, "Interested in modeling? I can introduce you to some specialized agencies. They'd be fighting over you."
That kind of "modeling" didn't interest Matthew, and he shook his head. "Driving suits me better."
The girl didn't hide the disappointment on her face. "How much does a driver make? Is it enough to live on?"
Matthew fell silent, not wanting to continue this line of discussion. Rachel seemed to be sharp and probably sensed that what she'd just said was too forward, so she took the initiative to change the subject.
They talked for a while, and Matthew deliberately asked more about the girl. Her story was a bit like his own: she had originally come to Hollywood chasing a dream of stardom. But not everyone gets lucky like Julia Roberts, and she had ended up as a regular
"model."
The car gradually entered North Hollywood, which, like Westwood, is one of Los Angeles's finer residential areas. Matthew picked up the other five girls one by one and headed toward Malibu.
Unlike Rachel, these five girls were taller and sexier. Each one was heavily made up, had a stunning body, and they ranged in ethnicity from Black and white to Latina and Asian.
For some reason, Matthew felt that these five models were somehow similar to the blonde from the morning. Maybe it was because they all sold their bodies?
As the sun was setting in the west, the Ford arrived in the beach house district of Malibu. Mansions lined the streets, one after another, and even the smallest of them was something Matthew couldn't afford in a lifetime on his current income.
The car pulled up to a small estate. As the girls got out one by one, they asked for Matthew's number and where he'd be waiting. Then, following the guards' instructions, Matthew started the car and drove toward the estate's entrance.
As he drove past, his gaze lingered on the fountains, the private pool, the tennis courts, the manicured gardens, the high courtyard walls topped with grilles, and the heavily guarded gates—an overwhelming display of luxury.
"When will I have a house like this?" The thought flashed through Matthew's mind as he drove away from the estate's entrance.
Instead of leaving, he turned and parked in a small lot diagonally across from the estate.
According to Red Penguin Services' rules, he had to wait here with his car, just in case.
Soon, the sun had set and the sky grew dark. Faint sounds of loud music drifted from the estate. Matthew looked up: a laser beam shot across the night sky. The rave had begun.
Knock, knock, knock!
There was an unexpected knock on the car door. Matthew turned his head, only to see that a stranger in a baseball cap and carrying a briefcase had somehow approached his car.
"Can we talk?" It was a woman's voice.