The Best Movie Actor In Hollywood! Chapter 16

Before every night shift, Matthew had to retrieve the car keys from Lister’s office. He climbed to the second floor, knocked, and pushed the door open, completely unsurprised by the voice that greeted him.

“Well, look who it is!” The exceptionally nasty voice of a bald Black man rang out the moment Matthew entered the office. “Our star has decided to join us.”

He heard the man's sneer every time he walked into this office, and as usual, Matthew ignored the idiot and headed for Lister's desk to grab the keys.

But the bald Black man wasn't done. “I heard you had an audition. What was it for? Another porn flick, like last time?”

Matthew couldn’t figure out how they knew. He had almost starred in a film like that, but he’d kept his mouth shut about it. Yet somehow, the rumor seemed to have spread throughout the entire company.

“He's not just any star, he's a porn star.” A heavyset man next to the bald man laughed. “You going to star in that kind of crap again?”

“How much money can you even make doing something like that?” the bald man chimed in again.

Lister said nothing, merely smiling as he watched the insufferable fools mock and tease Matthew. Their words were starting to change his opinion of the young driver. Truth be told, his perception had been shifting for a while, though only slightly. But now...

Clutching the newspaper and magazine he had just bought, Matthew glared with contempt at the bald man. The man stared back, his eyes wide, and twisted his thick lips—which resembled greasy, dangling sausages—before spitting out a few more sharp words. “What are you looking at? Am I wrong, you hick?”

“It’s a good thing for the world that not everyone is as spiteful, needlessly aggressive, and stupid as you two,” Matthew retorted, refusing to stay silent.

“What did you just say?” The bald man shot up from his office chair, incensed that the hick had dared to talk back.

He looked furious and rolled up his sleeves as if to throw a punch, but then he took in the full head of height Matthew had on him, and his stocky build. He reconsidered, snatching up his glass of water and taking a large gulp instead.

Lister watched the show with a smile, enjoying the spectacle. He had no love for the bald Black man or for Matthew, but the two of them certainly knew how to put on a show.

The bald man downed half a glass of water in one gulp. “No matter how hard you try, you’ll always be a dead-end driver with no future. People like y—”

Before he could finish, a magazine slapped down on the desk in front of him, thrown open to a page featuring a movie poster with a bold caption printed beneath it.

Matthew had tossed down the copy of Premiere magazine he’d bought near the Red Penguin office. He didn’t bother saying anything else; getting into a conflict with the bald man would only escalate things. And even if he punched him, what would that accomplish? The ignorant fool would just run to the police.

The page showed a promotional poster for a period epic. In the background stood a horde of barbarians, led by their chieftain.

Why did the barbarian chieftain’s face, half-hidden by a beard, look so familiar? The bald man subconsciously scratched his head.

“You're driving the Ford tonight,” Lister said, handing Matthew a set of keys and a document. “The job's in Malibu. You've been there.”

Matthew glanced at the papers and nodded. “Got it.”

Lister waved him off. “Don't be late. The client's in a foul mood, so no matter what he says or does, you just have to take it.”

Without a backward glance at the still-fuming bald man, Matthew took the keys and papers and walked out of the office.

Once inside the car, he glanced at the papers again, just to be sure he’d read the name correctly. The destination for tonight was indeed Jonny Lee Miller’s estate in Malibu.

Back in Lister’s office, the bald man was still staring at the barbarian chieftain on the poster, a look of alarm and disbelief creeping into his eyes.

“What's wrong?” The heavyset man noticed his expression and came over to ask. “What is it?”

He leaned over the bald man's shoulder and looked down at the barbarian chieftain. He froze, too. After a few seconds, he recovered, his expression blank, and pointed to the poster and the text beneath it. “That face...”

Is that... Matthew?

Unable to believe his eyes, the heavyset man turned to Lister. “How is that possible!”

A strange feeling creeping over him, Lister asked, “What's possible?”

“It can't be him! It's definitely not him!” the bald man suddenly shouted, his voice startlingly loud. “This says Gladiator is a hundred-million-dollar blockbuster from Universal Pictures! It's directed by Ridley Scott! Why would he hire some hick from Texas?”

The heavyset man peered at it again and muttered, “That face is a dead ringer for Matthew Horner, just with a beard.”

The bald man shot back at him, “There are tons of people in the world who look alike! I don't believe it's him.”

The remark made the heavyset man snap. He jabbed a finger at the magazine. “Are you blind? That is Matthew Horner!”

Lister walked over, but instead of stopping the two idiots from arguing, he took the magazine and studied it. He saw Matthew Horner nearly every day. One glance at the poster was all it took to confirm that it was, without a doubt, Matthew Horner’s face.

Then his eyes fell to the text below. Universal Pictures, $100 million, Ridley Scott, Russell Crowe... The names leaped off the page.

Lister rubbed his chin. “Is Matthew about to strike it rich?”

“No, it's not him!” the bald man was still arguing with his coworker. “You bastard, didn't you hear me? It can't be him!”

The heavyset man grew even angrier. “You blind nigger!”

At that, the bald man lunged forward and grabbed the heavyset man’s shirt. The other man shoved him back, perhaps too forcefully, sending the bald man stumbling backward and landing hard on his ass.

“Enough!” Lister wouldn't tolerate a fight in his office.

Both the heavyset man and the bald man glared at each other but didn’t make another move.

“Matthew? Seriously? I can’t wrap my head around it,” the heavyset man muttered as he walked back to his desk.

The bald man struggled up from the floor, his dark face expressionless. He had spent so long mocking that country boy, and now that same kid was part of the cast for a film by the great Ridley Scott...

“No! It’s definitely not him!” The bald man was trying to convince himself. How could the Texas hick he ridiculed every day possibly climb his way out of the gutter?

...

In the drivers' lounge, Matthew finished reading the papers and magazines he'd bought, then took a break, scratching his head as he thought about the night's job.

Angelina Jolie had finalized her divorce from Jonny Lee Miller last month. Matthew didn't know the specifics, but according to the media, Jonny Lee Miller had paid a steep price, especially when it came to the division of their assets.

Matthew guessed the video he'd shot must have played a significant role in that.

However, the fact that he was still working for Red Penguin meant Jonny Lee Miller didn't suspect him yet.

“Looks like Jonny Lee Miller has fallen into a depression, huh?”

A while back, Matthew had heard from another driver that Jonny Lee Miller had been contacting Red Penguin so frequently that he’d gone through nearly every model on the company's books.

The party Jonny Lee Miller was throwing tonight was even bigger than the last one he'd attended, and Matthew had to pick up more people.

When it was time to leave, he got into the Ford, ready to pick up the first guests in Westwood. But just as he turned off Hollywood Boulevard, he noticed a yellow Chevrolet behind him, seemingly following him.

Matthew deliberately drove two blocks out of his way and took a detour, but the Chevrolet stayed right on his tail.

“Is someone following me?” He frowned slightly.

Doing a quick mental inventory, Matthew realized he’d offended a fair number of people lately, both directly and indirectly. There was Jonny Lee Miller, that dumb pig Mason from the Gladiator set, and Winona Ryder.

It couldn't be Winona Ryder; they had a non-disclosure agreement.

While Matthew was lost in thought, the Ford approached the familiar standalone house. He honked, and the front door opened. Rachel emerged, waving just like she always did. “Ten minutes! I’ll be out in ten minutes!” she called out.

Matthew raised a hand to wave back, then glanced in his rearview mirror. The yellow Chevrolet had followed him and parked less than thirty feet away.

The car’s passenger-side window was rolled down, revealing a black, cylindrical object aimed first at the Ford, then at the house...

Seeing it, one possibility immediately sprang to Matthew’s mind.