The Best Movie Actor Chapter 35

"We don't have language class this afternoon," Rachel said as they left acting class together. "Where are you headed? Hollywood Boulevard?"

"I need to buy a phone," Matthew replied right away.

He turned to Rachel. "Do you know anywhere nearby that sells cell phones?"

"There's a mall east of Valley Avenue," Rachel offered, having bought electronics there before. "They have kiosks that sell cell phones—Nokia, Motorola, all of them. Want

to take you?"

Matthew nodded. "If it's no trouble. And maybe you can give

so advice—I don't know much about phones."

In his ti, cell phones ant smartphones everywhere. He wasn't exactly an expert on these old button phones.

"I'll get my car," Rachel said, heading for the parking lot. "I'll et you at the entrance."

As Rachel headed to the parking lot, Matthew walked alone toward the school entrance, his mind on the scandal linking him to Britney Spears in that day's U.S. News & World Report. He wondered if he should visit her in the hospital.

But wouldn't the hospital entrance be swarming with reporters?

Just then, his secondhand cell phone rang, displaying an unfamiliar number.

"Hello, Matthew Horner speaking," he answered.

"It's , Helen," her voice ca through the receiver. "Are you still at the school?"

"I am," Matthew confird. "Did you get a new number?"

"This is my personal number," Helen explained. "I'm out of Los Angeles at the mont, and Britney's agent is looking for . I won't be using my old number for a few days, so use this one if you need to reach ."

Matthew understood her strategy imdiately: she was clearly letting the fabricated rumor breathe for a while.

Helen's voice cut back in. "One more thing. Go visit Britney in the hospital today. You need to see this through."

"I was just thinking about that," Matthew said. "I'll go later. I'm on my way to buy a new phone right now."

Helen added one last instruction before hanging up. "If anyone asks you about Britney, rember: say nothing. It can all wait until I'm back. Oh, and you'll be acting again soon."

"A new role?" Matthew asked imdiately.

"Yes," Helen confird. "I'm talking about a role in a miniseries. One with significant lines and screen ti."

Matthew reached the school gates. "I'll be waiting for you to get back," he said.

The role Helen was promising would undoubtedly be more significant than playing the barbarian chieftain in Gladiator.

Hanging up the phone, Matthew stepped through the school gates when a sudden, blinding flash of white light made him instinctively shield his eyes. Before he could even register what was happening, a dozen reporters had surrounded him, thrusting microphones and small tape recorders in his face.

"Mr. Horner, is it true that you and Britney Spears are dating?"

A barrage of questions followed.

"When did you start dating?"

"Have you and Britney slept together yet?"

"Was Britney a virgin when you two had sex?"

Matthew remained silent, trying to push through the crowd as they continued to shout a barrage of invasive questions.

"Are you planning to get married?"

"Are you just using Britney? Are you after her fa, or her money?"

For a mont, Matthew was stunned by the sheer audacity of their questions. He'd never dealt with reporters before and had no experience handling them.

Fortunately, he rembered Helen's advice and kept his mouth firmly shut. No matter what they asked, he didn't say a word, simply focusing on moving forward, one step at a ti.

He could see Rachel's car parked just up ahead.

The paparazzi were relentless. Cara flashes popped incessantly, and a stream of absurd, pointed questions flew at him. One reporter even had the gall to ask if Britney's doctor's visit was because she was pregnant.

Compared to this pack, Ilana, the journalist he'd t before, seed like a paragon of integrity and professional ethics.

It took a considerable effort to finally reach Rachel's car. The mont she threw the passenger door open, he ducked past the reporters and dove inside, slamming it shut behind him. Rachel already had the engine running; she stomped on the gas, and the car shot forward.

As the car sped off, most of the reporters dispersed, but two from the sa newspaper lingered, talking to each other.

The one with the tape recorder asked the one with the video cara, "Did you get a shot of the girl in the car?"

"Yeah," the caraman replied confidently. "A young woman in the driver's seat. A blonde."

"Now we've got a story. This could be front-page material," the reporter with the tape recorder chortled. "Britney's New Beau Caught with Another Woman While She's in the Hospital."

The caraman laughed along. Readers would eat up a juicy story like that.

Once Rachel's car was out of sight, they left. Far from the entrance of the Los Angeles School of Performing Arts, Matthew finally let out a sigh.

Back when he lived on the other side of the Pacific, he'd read online about how crazy the paparazzi could be and knew they were intrusive. But reading about it and experiencing it firsthand were two entirely different things.

"Not a fan?" Rachel asked, pulling up to a red light. "Plenty of people in Hollywood would kill for that kind of attention from the paparazzi."

Instead of answering, Matthew asked, "Why didn't you call and warn ?"

As the light turned green, Rachel accelerated through the intersection. "I tried to call," she said, "but you were already on the phone."

"Right," Matthew said, tapping his forehead. "I was on the phone with my agent."

Soon, they arrived at the mall Rachel had ntioned. After parking, they went inside and found a cell phone kiosk. The phones of this era all looked clunky, their features a far cry from the smartphones he was used to.

Standing in front of the counter, Rachel asked Matthew, "Are you looking for any particular features?"

Matthew was blunt. "Cheap, and it has to make calls."

Following his number one rule—spend as little as possible—Matthew took Rachel's advice and bought a Nokia phone. It had very few features, but it was more than enough to et his basic need: making calls.

"Didn't you get paid well for that movie?" Rachel asked curiously as they headed for the exit. "And you have that great side job, so why buy such a cheap phone?"

Matthew shrugged, a helpless look on his face. "I lost the part-ti job. Took too much ti off and they fired ."

Rachel shook her head. "That's a sha. That job was perfect for an actor."

"Tell

about it." A headache was starting to form behind Matthew's eyes. "It'll be tough to find another gig like that."

They were nearing the mall entrance when Matthew checked the ti and offered, "Let

buy you lunch."

Rachel shook her head. "I've got a lunch eting with my agent, and then I have to head over to Laurel Valley Boulevard."

"Did he find you a job?" Matthew asked.

"Maybe," Rachel said uncertainly. "I don't really know."

"Then don't worry about giving

a ride." If he'd known, Matthew wouldn't have asked her to drive him in the first place. "I'll just grab a cab."

They chatted a bit more before Rachel left. Matthew called a cab, bought a bouquet of flowers, and waited out front. When the taxi arrived, he told the driver to take him to the UCLA dical Center.

He'd called the previous evening and learned that Britney had been transferred to the UCLA dical Center, which had so of the best specialists in sports physical therapy.

Matthew was prepared for paparazzi to be at the entrance; in fact, he was counting on it. If there hadn't been a dia circus blocking the entrance, he wouldn't even be going to see Britney just yet.

The thought of those crazy entertainnt reporters gave him a headache, but at least he didn't have to answer their questions. All he had to do was keep his mouth shut, just as Helen had instructed.

After paying his fare, Matthew lingered in the taxi for a mont, surveying the sizable crowd gathered in front of the dical center. Most were young n and won—Britney's fans, he assud—but he also spotted several people with caras and video recorders. Definitely reporters.

The taxi hadn't attracted much notice. Matthew pushed the door open and stepped out. He might have been able to slip through the gates unnoticed, but then soone spotted him.

A reporter caught sight of him, recognized his face from the U.S. News & World Report story, and imdiately yelled, "It's Matthew Horner! Look, Matthew Horner is here!"

At that, he was the first to charge toward him.