Chapter 9 |
Anyone who saw a woman that beautiful would have stopped to stare, and Matthew was no exception. From behind the towering bookshelves that separated them, his gaze kept drifting back to her, drawn to her short, stylish haircut.
Suddenly, Matthew's eyes widened. The woman seemed to have found a book she liked. She paused before a shelf, then in one swift motion, plucked two books from it and slipped them into her handbag.
Matthew blinked, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. A woman so slender, elegant, and seemingly innocent... was a shoplifter?
After stashing the books, the woman continued to browse as if nothing had happened. Matthew reasoned that she might have just put them in her bag temporarily and would take them out at the register to pay. He quickly grabbed a few books on acting himself and peered through the shelves, just in time to see her walking toward the checkout counter.
Curiosity got the better of him. Matthew followed, making a point to glance at the shelf she'd stopped at. Sure enough, there were two distinct empty spaces where the books had been.
Just as he emerged from the stacks, the woman with the short hair strolled right past the registers, a broad smile on her face. The two clerks behind the counter waved goodbye to her warmly, as if she were a regular. She gave them a nod and walked straight out the door.
Matthew could only shake his head. He walked up to the counter, placed his own books down, and paid without a word. The whole episode was bizarre, but he saw no reason to get involved.
To save money, he skipped the taxi and took the bus home. His small rented apartment might have been old, but at least it meant he had a place to call his own in Los Angeles.
Back home, sitting on a sofa that sagged in the middle, Matthew picked up one of the books he'd bought and opened it. It was "Film Acting: The Technique and History of Acting for the Camera" by O’Brien. He read for a while, but his focus wavered, much like it had when he'd tried to decipher that contract.
Matthew slapped the book shut. Improving his reading skills was going to be a slog. After a moment's thought, he jogged down to the corner newsstand and bought a couple of newspapers. They would be far easier to digest than dense textbooks full of unfamiliar American slang.
After making his way through one of the tabloids, he made a resolution: he would set aside time to read every single day to improve this fundamental skill. Once his reading was up to par, he'd start working on his writing, too.
Even if he never became a Hollywood star, he refused to be semi-literate.
Then there were acting schools—a crucial step for his career—but that was a bridge he couldn't cross just yet.
Matthew had spent the last few days researching. Los Angeles was overflowing with acting schools: professional academies, short-term intensives, temporary workshops at local universities, Broadway-style seminars, and more. One place, the Hollywood Academy of Film, Television, and Theatre, offered a six-month program with classes five days a week.
The problem was, they were all expensive. He couldn't afford the hefty tuition, especially with the potential penalty for that breached contract hanging over his head.
As if on cue, the moment he thought about the contract, his phone rang.
Matthew put the phone to his ear. A crisp, professional voice on the other end asked, "Hello, is this Mr. Matthew Horner?"
"Speaking," Matthew replied, a knot of dread forming in his stomach.
"Mr. Horner, my name is Chris Walker. I'm a legal counsel," the man introduced himself. "I'm calling to officially inform you that you are in breach of a contract signed by both parties."
He then launched into a stream of legalese and contractual terms that all boiled down to one thing: "You are required to pay fifty thousand dollars in damages for breach of contract. Please provide your address so I can send you an official letter from our attorney this afternoon."
"Hello? Hello?" Matthew suddenly exclaimed, feigning static. "What was that? I can't hear you very well. This damn phone is acting up again!"
With that, he promptly popped off the back cover of his phone and yanked out the battery.
It was a desperate measure, a temporary fix at best. The previous Matthew had used all his real information when he signed that contract. With the new millennium just around the corner, in an information-driven society like America, running back to some small town in Texas wouldn't do him any good.
"Fifty thousand dollars..." Matthew muttered, his brow furrowed. "Should I hire a lawyer?"
A lawyer could probably negotiate an out-of-court settlement for less than fifty thousand, but the legal fees alone would be a huge expense.
Matthew knew it all came down to money. If he had money, none of this would even be an issue.
Matthew set his phone aside, picked up the newspaper, and began to read with renewed focus. If he couldn't even read fluently, how could he ever hope to seize an opportunity when it came his way?
After a few hours of reading in his apartment, he went for a run, threw together some dinner, and then headed out again for his night job.
He stopped by Lister's to pick up the car keys, enduring the usual sarcasm from the other drivers before setting off in the company Ford. His first pickup was Rachel in Westwood, and the destination was the neighboring Orange County.
After picking up the blonde model from Westwood, Matthew hit the highway toward Orange County. Just like last time, Rachel was a ray of sunshine, settling into the passenger seat and chattering away nonstop.
"So, how's it going, handsome?" she asked with a wide grin. "I know a company looking for male models—good face, good body. You'd be a shoo-in."
Matthew didn't even have to think about it. He just shook his head. "No way."
"Oh, come on. This job can't pay well," Rachel said, pulling out a compact to touch up her makeup. "Feeling the pinch already?"
"I've got another part-time gig," Matthew said.
Rachel gave him a curious look. "You said you were going to be an actor. How's that going? Any luck?"
"Yeah," Matthew nodded. "I landed a small part in a film."
"An extra, you mean." Rachel scoffed. "I did a few of those gigs when I first got to L.A. over a year ago. Trust me, they lead nowhere. It's a dead end."
She shrugged, her tone turning surprisingly glib. "There was a time I was so desperate I actually thought about killing myself."
Matthew glanced at her, surprised by the sudden shift in tone.
It was hard to imagine someone so bubbly and cheerful even having such a dark thought.
"Do you know what real desperation is? It's being so broke you can't make rent, so you start skipping meals just to save a few bucks." Her smile vanished, and her voice dropped to a near-whisper. "When I hit that point, I had to take a job... one that society looks down on."
Matthew offered a small smile. "I thought about ending it all once, too."
"Oh?" Rachel's curiosity was piqued. "Why didn't you go through with it?"
"Couldn't find the right method," Matthew said, half-joking. "A knife would hurt, drowning takes too long, acid would be agonizing, pills just give you seizures, couldn't get my hands on a gun, and what if the rope snapped?"
Rachel burst out laughing.
...
Just like before, they chatted the rest of the way. After leaving the freeway, Matthew picked up three other women in Orange County and dropped the group off at their destination just before nightfall.
Once again, the drop-off was a mansion, though this one looked to be hosting a more formal party than the last.
As usual, he parked the car on a side street near the mansion, reclined his seat, and tried to get some sleep. At dawn the next morning, he drove the exhausted women back to their respective homes.
He had barely gotten home from his shift when his agent, Dennis, called, telling him he needed to be on set that afternoon.
Matthew rushed home for a few hours of sleep. He showered, changed, and managed to look reasonably refreshed. After a quick, early lunch, he hurried over to Columbia Pictures, arriving just before noon.
At the studio entrance, Matthew spotted the portly figure of his agent. Unlike their last meeting, Dennis seemed energetic, almost happy to be there.
"Come on," he beckoned to Matthew. "Let's head in."
After checking in with security at the gate, they made their way to the same office building as before. It was nearly empty; most people were out for lunch. Matthew and Dennis found a bench outside the casting director's office and settled in to wait.
"Remember," Dennis instructed, "on set, you do exactly what you're told. Don't talk back, don't question anything."
He waved a dismissive hand. "You're just background scenery. Stand where they tell you and keep your mouth shut. It's not complicated."
Matthew nodded.
This was the first step—getting experience, building a resume. With enough of that under his belt, his chances of landing a more substantial role would increase.
"I'm going to the restroom. You wait here. Don't go anywhere."
Dennis stood up. "Other extras might show up. Don't start any trouble."
Matthew just nodded again as Dennis turned and walked off down the hall.
Sitting there, bored, Matthew let his mind wander, imagining what it would be like on set that afternoon. His thoughts were interrupted by the sharp click-clack of heels on the tile floor coming from down the hallway. A moment later, a tall, slender woman rounded the corner.
Matthew looked up and recognized her instantly: Angelina Jolie, her dark hair now dyed blonde.
She didn't even glance his way as she shoved the door open and stormed into the office.
"Why? Why did you cut yesterday's footage?" Jolie's furious voice erupted from inside the office. "Why would you cut my scenes?"
A calm, cold female voice replied, "I'm the producer. It was a standard editorial decision. Don't make a scene."
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