The man blocking his path was tall and had a cocky look on his face. To Matthew, it felt like he owed the guy a huge debt or something.
"Hey, hillbilly!" Meiken jerked his chin at Matthew. He had already learned a few things about Matthew from chatting with some extras on set. "Stop right there!"
Matthew didn't know who this guy was, and he had no interest in finding out. This was a film set—getting into a shouting match could cause real trouble. And since he'd just wrapped a scene and was about to get a decent paycheck, he had no reason to start anything.
The road was wide enough to fit a whole trailer truck, let alone two people. So Matthew stepped to the side, planning to just walk around him.
But Meiken didn't back off. He took a step forward and blocked Matthew again.
"Hillbilly!" he barked, standing about a yard away, eyes locked on Matthew. "Didn't you hear me tell you to stop?"
Matthew stopped and frowned, clearly annoyed. "What do you want?"
"You stole my role!" Meiken practically shouted it.
"What are you talking about?" Matthew guessed this idiot was probably the guy Ridley Scott had replaced. Still, he kept his voice calm. "You're out of your mind."
That only made Meiken angrier. He jabbed a finger at Matthew's chest. "You know who I am?"
There weren't many people on the road since the crew was still shooting, but a few Roman-soldier extras nearby paused to watch the tension unfold.
Before Matthew could say anything, Meiken yelled, "I'm Meiken! I trained at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art! Don't forget that, you American pig!"
He yelled loud enough for everyone to hear. Not just Matthew, but the other extras too.
This was the north side of L.A.—the extras were all locals. Getting called "American pigs" by a pompous Brit? Yeah, their expressions immediately turned sour.
Matthew's jaw twitched. For a second, he really wanted to snap that finger pointed at him. But then he remembered the $8,000 paycheck he hadn't gotten yet. Not worth it.
"Meiken, huh?" Matthew gave a cold laugh. "You're seriously messed up. No brains, no class — what, did nobody ever teach you how to act like a human being? You walk around like the world owes you something. News flash: you're not special. A guy like you? You're lucky if you even get cast as background garbage. Gum on the sidewalk's got more dignity. You want a girlfriend? Try a zoo — maybe one of the monkeys will pity you"
In just a few seconds, Matthew let out a string of brutal insults—none repeated.
Meiken stood frozen. He had no clue what Matthew had just said.
Matthew wasn't the kind to let things slide—he just wasn't dumb enough to throw punches on set before he got paid. If this were off-set, Meiken would already be eating curb.
Seeing Meiken stunned, Matthew tried to walk away.
But of course, Meiken wasn't going to let that happen. He couldn't do anything to Ridley Scott, so he came looking for someone else to blame.
He was a golden boy from the ivory tower. With his prestigious school background and strong recommendations, things had always gone his way. He'd never been replaced—he was the one doing the replacing.
"American pig!" he shouted and swung a fist at Matthew's face.
Matthew had been ready for this. He saw the punch coming, grabbed Meiken's wrist mid-air.
"You…" Meiken felt how rough Matthew's grip was.
Matthew wasn't holding back anymore. His hand clamped down like a vice, the veins on the back of his hand bulging as he squeezed.
"AHHH—!"
Meiken screamed in pain and swung his free arm at Matthew's shoulder.
But with one wrist trapped and his body wracked with pain, the punch was weak—barely stronger than a tap.
Matthew had enough. Did this British prick think he was some bigshot? He shoved Meiken's arm hard.
Meiken stumbled back two or three steps before catching himself.
Just as he steadied, Matthew's hand whipped forward—and smacked him across the face.
SMACK!
The sound echoed sharp and loud.
"Nice one!"
The extras watching cheered. "Teach that arrogant Brit a lesson!"
Meiken was stunned. His face burned. The slap had definitely landed.
Before he could react, SMACK—another slap hit the other side of his face.
"You… you hit me!" Meiken finally snapped out of it, his voice full of disbelief.
"Hah…" Matthew lowered his hand, raising his voice on purpose. "That was self-defense."
"You American pig!" Meiken shouted and lunged again. "I won't let you get away with this!"
"Meiken, stop!" A tall, skinny man in a well-fitted suit ran up behind him. "What the hell are you doing?"
The moment Meiken saw him, his eyes turned red, like a kid about to cry after getting beat up. "Gore! He hit me!"
The man—Gore—glanced at Matthew. "You again."
Before Matthew could respond, Gore snapped, "You stole Meiken's role and now you're assaulting him—"
"I defended myself," Matthew cut in. "He started it."
Gore turned to Meiken, who immediately said, "I just wanted to talk, but he went nuts and hit me!"
"I'm Meiken's agent. Name's Gore." He gave a polished intro, typical British gentleman style. "You're Matthew Horner, right? About this situation—"
"Mr. Gore," Matthew cut him off again, "My agent's here. Talk to her."
Behind Gore and Meiken, Helen Herman was walking over with the bearded guy from the set. They clearly saw what had happened.
"What's going on?" Helen asked as she arrived.
She'd been on her way to meet Matthew, ran into the bearded guy, and chatted briefly. That's why she was a little late.
"Your client—" Gore began, but Helen cut him off without even glancing at him. "Sorry, sir, I wasn't talking to you."
Matthew couldn't help but smile. This agent already seemed way better than that fat guy Dennis Kurt.
"This guy blocked my way," Matthew said plainly. "Said I stole his role, called me an American pig, and then threw a punch. I had no choice but to defend myself."
"No choice?" Gore pointed at the red handprints on Meiken's face. "You call that 'no choice'?"
The bearded guy was still there. Gore planted his hands on his hips. "I demand an explanation! My client was assaulted on set! I'm filing a complaint with Screen Actors Guild!"
The bearded man glanced at Matthew, who looked calm, then at Meiken, who looked like a wreck. He said nothing.
Gore added loudly, "Meiken is a William Morris client!"
William Morris was a powerhouse agency—second only to CAA. Normally, smaller agents and actors wouldn't dare mess with them.
Gore knew his client had issues, but Meiken had potential and a solid network. If handled right, he could blow up. And agents always had to back their clients—that's the job.
Pulling out the William Morris card, Gore thought that would shut things down.
But when he looked at Matthew, Helen, and the bearded guy, none of them seemed the least bit bothered.
The bearded man was a longtime Ridley Scott collaborator—he wasn't worried about some junior agent from a big agency.
Matthew didn't even know how big William Morris was—and ignorance is fearless.
And Helen? She'd clawed her way out of CAA's mailroom and started her own company. No way a threat like this would scare her.
Matthew frowned and glanced at the small crowd of onlookers. "This Meiken guy called me an American pig. Isn't that hate speech?"
"I did not!" Meiken denied immediately.
Matthew ignored him and leaned in toward Helen, gesturing toward the extras and whispering something. Helen nodded and walked over to the group. A moment later, they came back with her.
Seeing them return, Meiken's face went pale—except for the two bright red handprints.
"They saw everything from the moment Meiken stopped Matthew," Helen said.
"Yeah!" one extra pointed at Meiken. "That Brit's mouth was filthy. Kept calling us American pigs!"
That kind of insult, especially coming from a Brit, really rubbed them the wrong way.
"I—" Meiken tried to explain.
Another extra jumped in. "He didn't just insult us, he took a swing at him!"
Helen smiled politely at Gore, whose face was now completely stiff.
"It was the Brit who started it!" another extra added. "We can all back that up!"
Meiken couldn't say a word now. He just glared at Matthew with hate-filled eyes.
Matthew shrugged and raised both hands like, what can you do?
Helen looked at Matthew, then turned to Gore. "Mr. Gore, your client used discriminatory language against mine. I'll be filing a formal complaint with Screen Actors Guild."