Matthew didn't get back to Beverly Hills that evening. In fact, it was early the next morning when he finally left the private house gan was renting, heading with her to the DreamWorks headquarters in Glendale to continue the voice-over work for "Transforrs."
Perhaps it was because of the night they'd spent together, but gan opened up in the car.
"David Geffen owed my agent a favor," she explained, gazing out the car window at Matthew, who sat beside her. "So, he recomnded
for the 'Transforrs' cast."
Matthew nodded. David Geffen was one of the three original founders of DreamWorks.
gan added, "Shia has been harassing
ever since I got on set."
Matthew replied, "He's like a spoiled child."
"A spoiled child?" gan shook her head sharply. "He's worse. I heard crew mbers saying he was doing drugs and then jerking off to my promotional posters for the movie. It's just..."
She ran her hands through her hair. "I wish this movie didn't have a sequel, just so I wouldn't have to deal with that bastard again."
"Don't forget about your phone," Matthew reminded her. "Find the right mont to subtly let him know you have a video. He'll have to be wary of you then."
gan turned her head to look at Matthew. "Yes! I could post it online or sell it to TMZ..."
"Trust , gan," Matthew said. "It's only useful as long as it stays in your hands. If you release it, Shia will suffer for a little while at best. Don't forget, Spielberg is behind him. It wouldn't be hard for him to bounce back. And you? Besides, it would affect the box office."
gan wasn't stupid; she understood imdiately. "Then I'd offend Spielberg and DreamWorks. Even David Geffen, who recomnded , would never work with
again... It's like a nuclear weapon—it's mainly for deterrence."
Matthew smirked. "You could say that."
gan suddenly leaned over and kissed him gently. "You're so smart and charming, I can't let you go."
Matthew asked, "Does Shia do drugs often? He didn't seem like a rookie."
"For a long ti," gan answered, her tone completely serious. "I've heard rumors about him since before I had my plastic surgery."
gan's words didn't surprise Matthew in the slightest. It was common practice among Hollywood actors, especially actresses. Scarlett Johansson, for example, had told him she'd had work done on her nose and chin.
"Beverly Hills?" Matthew asked.
gan admitted, "Yeah, at a costic surgery center in Beverly Hills. It cost
all my savings."
Matthew nodded and said nothing more.
There was a ti when many people assud the best place for costic surgery was South Korea. But in reality, if you wanted to find the pinnacle of the craft, you didn't have to look any further than Hollywood, Los Angeles.
More specifically, within the confines of Beverly Hills were several clinics that catered almost exclusively to Hollywood stars.
In Beverly Hills, not far from the bustling stretch of Rodeo Drive, a prominent billboard featured a beautiful woman leaning against a Ferrari. Her face was exquisite, her chest full, her legs long—a vision of perfection so complete it would impress even the most conceited celebrities.
Next to the photograph was the slogan: "Ferrari creates the perfect car; we create perfect beauty."
It was an advertisent for a Beverly Hills costic surgery clinic.
How many beautiful won lived in Beverly Hills? That was a secret. How many beautiful won were produced by the plastic surgery clinics in Beverly Hills? That was an even bigger secret.
Los Angeles was also known as the plastic surgery capital of the world. No other place on earth had more people seeking costic procedures than all other cities combined.
Even the most beautiful people in the world could feel insecure here, surrounded by so many stunning n and won. And while looks weren't everything in Hollywood, it was a well-known fact that a beautiful face made the path to success much smoother.
Matthew understood the necessity of it.
Ilana's exposé section on TMZ had once published a statistic claiming that Hollywood stars spent over one hundred million dollars a year on costic surgery.
Of course, the most common facial procedure was the nose job. Blake Lively, Scarlett Johansson, Natalie Portman, Jessica Simpson, Julia Roberts, Angelina Jolie—the list went on. They had all had their noses done and weren't shy about admitting it.
Then there were the aging actresses, propped up by hyaluronic acid and Botox, turning so of Hollywood's "ageless goddesses" into zombie-faced caricatures.
The costic surgery clinics in Beverly Hills were considered the most trustworthy, for two reasons. First, the rent in the area was astronomical; if a clinic couldn't consistently turn a profit, it wouldn't last. Second, their clientele consisted of celebrities who cared less about money and more about flawless results. One mistake, and a clinic's reputation—and its ability to survive in the area—would be ruined.
They also specialized in rhinoplasty and nasal tip correction. After all, if you looked at most of Hollywood's acclaid stars, you would notice they all shared a small, straight nose.
If one paid close attention, especially when comparing their consecutive film roles, it was easy to see that actresses like Blake Lively, Scarlett Johansson, and Natalie Portman had noses that were now significantly smaller.
This wasn't just a Hollywood trend; it was prevalent throughout the entire European and Arican entertainnt industries. Sophie Marceau in France, Monica Bellucci in Italy, Penélope Cruz in Spain—many of them eventually sported small, straight noses.
As for Botox, it was better not to even ntion it.
n and won, regardless of age, wanted to be the perfect version of themselves. Matthew wouldn't judge them for getting a nose job or sothing similar. But in truth, aging naturally was a fine thing. Turning your face into a zombie mask that scared people was another matter entirely.
It was currently awards season, the busiest ti of year for Beverly Hills' plastic surgeons. In the month leading up to the Oscars, celebrities would rush to spend upwards of two hundred thousand dollars on quick fixes for their bodies and faces, all to make a splash on the big night.
As their rcedes approached Glendale, Matthew received a call from Spielberg's assistant. The director himself had co to the DreamWorks headquarters today.
"He's not going to co after , is he?" gan asked, a little worried.
The only reason she had put up with Shia was because of the industry titan backing him.
"I don't think so." Matthew had dealt with Spielberg many tis. "Steven is a reasonable man."
gan nodded.
Matthew took her hand. "Don't worry. Shia is just Spielberg's godson."
The car passed through the red arches of the DreamWorks campus and soon pulled up in front of an office building. Matthew got out first and waited for gan Fox to join him. Together, they entered the building and took the elevator up to the sa professional dubbing room as the day before.
Spielberg was waiting for them, discussing work with Michael Bay. Shia LaBeouf, no longer the maniac from yesterday, stood quietly beside Spielberg like a chastised child.
Judging by his calm and penitent expression, there was no trace of the asshole from the previous day.
"Hello, Steven," Matthew greeted Spielberg, completely ignoring Shia. Spielberg adjusted his glasses and smiled. "It's been a while, Matthew."
They exchanged pleasantries, and Michael Bay gestured for everyone else to leave the room.
Soon, only five people remained in the room: Matthew, gan Fox, Michael Bay, Steven Spielberg, and Shia LaBeouf.
Spielberg closed the door. "I'm here mainly because of what happened yesterday. Shia is still a kid, so please don't take it to heart."
Matthew smiled. "It's fine."
Shia stood beside Spielberg, his head hung low as if admitting his mistake, but his eyes darted upward, full of resentnt, constantly flicking toward Matthew.
"Ahem!"
He gave a weak cough, his chest aching. Those two punches had nearly broken his ribs.
Shia cursed internally, his gaze as sharp as a rapier.
Beside him, Spielberg turned his head and said, "Shia, you were in the wrong. Apologize to Matthew."
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