I am Hollywood

Chapter 253: Stupid Things



[Chapter 253: Stupid Things]

The second-hand Ford coughed a few times and then suddenly stalled. Even though George Norse fastened his seatbelt, the abrupt stop left him gasping for air, as if he had been punched in the chest.

He unbuckled his seatbelt, got out of the car, and lifted the slightly smoking hood for a quick look. George cursed "Fuck" a few times, checked his surroundings, and realized he was less than a mile from the premiere theater for The Others. He had no choice but to muster all his strength to push the car over to a parking spot, then grabbed his bag containing a camera and recorder and walked briskly towards the premiere.

At this moment, George Norse had long lost the polished gentleman look he had worn six months ago. He wore a poorly zipped dark gray jacket and somewhat loose jeans, with unshaven stubble giving him a disheveled appearance.

After the July controversy surrounding his critique of Running Out of Time escalated, George, who had once had a modestly successful career as a film critic, found himself blacklisted by most movie companies in Hollywood, losing what had been a lucrative job.

Previously, George had earned over one hundred thousand dollars a year, but like many, he had lived beyond his means. This led to his financial ruin after losing his job and income. Within months, he lost his Beverly Hills apartment to the bank and had to sell his sports car to pay off debts.

Initially, Premiere magazine had let him go under pressure from Columbia Pictures, leaving George unable to find work with other Hollywood publications.

To make ends meet, George had taken a job at a small tabloid called Hollywood Online. While its name sounded classy, it was no match for notable publications like The Hollywood Reporter or The Hollywood Observer. Now, George found himself working as a journalist, or to put it plainly, a paparazzi.n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

Although he earned over three thousand dollars a month from Hollywood Online, including occasional freelance reviews, this paled in comparison to the income he had once made with ease from publishing a few reviews.

Each time George felt overwhelmed by the disparity in his lifestyle, he couldn't help but think of Nicole Kidman's pretty face.

If it hadn't been for that awful woman, he mused, he could still be living a relatively comfortable and easy life. Instead, he had sunk to renting a small apartment in Burbank, spent his days chasing little stars all around Los Angeles, and often returned home after a long day with nothing to show for it, only to be berated by that fat pig editor.

Whenever he recalled Nicole Kidman, George couldn't help but think of Eric. Shortly after their incident, Nicole became the star of Eric's new film. While many papers lauded Nicole as talented and fortunate, some even detailed how Eric had chosen her from a multitude of auditioning actresses.

Yet, George remembered that night clearly. Nicole seemed to know Drew Barrymore, which meant she definitely knew Eric Williams.

He found himself wanting to expose the truth to the media -- it wasn't what everyone thought. That woman surely had some dirty secret with Eric Williams. Her getting cast in Sleepless in Seattle must have involved some shady exchange with Eric.

However, he had no evidence, and he'd only recently been blacklisted for attacking Eric's film, so any claim he made would likely be dismissed. Even if a gossip rag picked it up, they'd just think he was venting because of his own predicament, and he could risk facing a lawsuit. So, George buried the thought deep inside.

Reflecting on everything that had transpired over the past few months, George made his way to the luxurious cinema on Sunset Boulevard, where the premiere of The Others would take place that evening. Of course, he no longer enjoyed the privilege of comfortably watching films like those invited critics often did, nor could he expect a public relations check afterward.

Now, he didn't even have the right to attend the film's post-screening press conference and could only squeeze in with other paparazzi waiting near the red carpet for the film's director and stars to arrive, hoping for a lucky scoop.

If he had a choice, George wouldn't have attended the premiere, burdened as he was by a deep resentment towards Nicole, which also colored his opinion of Eric. That was why he had foolishly channeled his anger about Nicole's "teasing" into a critique of Eric's Running Out of Time. But today was October 30, and he still had interviews to complete. If he didn't turn in his pieces tomorrow, that strict editor would dock his pay, so George had no choice but to suppress his disdain and show up.

By six that evening, the red carpet outside the cinema was packed with an enthusiastic crowd. Harrison Ford, Tom Hanks, Kim Basinger, Melanie Griffith, Julia Roberts...

One by one, these big Hollywood stars graced the carpet, eliciting shrieks from fans.

George, trapped behind the barrier along with other blocked paparazzi, yelled at the stars strolling down the carpet, hoping to catch them off guard with some questions. But,

predictably, he received no response.

After exhausting a whole roll of film without a single worthwhile shot, he felt an undeniable frustration and switched to a new roll. He spotted Demi Moore, clad in a strapless gown, cozying up to Bruce Willis as they walked past the carpet. He wished the star would trip and fall on her face as she climbed the steps, perhaps even tear her gown in the process, which would give him a solid topic for an article and allow him to leave without enduring the chaos. Unfortunately, this "wonderful" fantasy was never realized, and Demi and her husband soon disappeared into the theater.

Moments later, cheers erupted from the other end of the red carpet, and George could distinctly hear Eric Williams' name among the cacophony. A strong aversion welled up inside him, but the past few months had drained any remaining arrogance he had. Quickly, he snapped back into action, hoping to snag Eric for a few questions.

...

Round the corner came Eric Williams, sharply dressed in a black tuxedo, his face adorned with

a gentle smile as he waved at the enthusiastic fans. Walking alongside him was the petite but

voluptuous Virginia Madsen, the leading lady of The Others.

Even at a distance of seven or eight meters, the paparazzi roared for Eric.

"Eric, can you stop for a picture?"

"Eric, look this way!"

"..."

Eric, with Virginia at his side, stepped into the press area, pausing just long enough for the cameras to capture them together to promote Virginia's publicity.

"Eric, would you mind taking a picture with Ms. Madsen?"

"Eric..."

The paparazzi pressed once more, unsatisfied.

Eric smiled and shook his head. Despite the industry's awareness of his relationship with Virginia, and even as some gossip rags ran wild with fabricated stories about them, Eric refused to provide any more fodder.

The clicking of shutters continued as savvy paparazzi sensed Eric might soon leave, so they hurriedly raised their recording devices to hurl questions at him. Still, Eric acted as if he hadn't heard, graciously wrapping his arm around Virginia as they started toward the theater. Seeing his chance slipping away again, George shouted out, "Mr. Williams, don't you think it's incredibly foolish to release The Others on November 1st?"

With the force of his shout, George's voice rang out above the rest, momentarily silencing the

crowd.

Eric paused, turned to look for the voice, and quickly zeroed in on George Norse.

Though aware of the name attached to the critical review of Running Out of Time, Eric had

never seen him before, and now, interest flickered in his eyes.

As Eric stopped, the paparazzi behind the barrier went wild again, cameras clicking

frantically.

Eric approached George, loosening his hold on Virginia. "Was that you speaking just now?"

"Yes," George nodded slightly. Eric, though young, exuded the confidence of a successful man, causing George to feel a twinge of insecurity, reminders of his past confrontation still

fresh in his mind.

*****

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