Chapter 7 Pay to Act

After a hasty breakfast, Martin went out alone. His leg pain had improved after a night's rest, and the memories of his previous life became even clearer in his head.

Feeling better physically, of course, he couldn't waste time; there was still so much to do.

Martin stored the burnt CD safely and, carrying the JVC camcorder, he headed to the grocery store at the north end of the community.

Early in the morning, Scott Carter was already drinking, his nose shining brighter in the sunlight than the red light at the street corner.

Martin placed the camcorder on the counter, "Here's your stuff back. By the way, Harris has gotten treatment."

To Martin's surprise, Scott put down his liquor bottle, stood up, and seriously checked the camcorder, his nose turning even redder suddenly, "Kid, where is my tape? You stole my tape!"

"Don't accuse people falsely." Martin casually talked nonsense, "The tape from the cassette was used to bind your son's splint. Go ask Elena for it."

Upon hearing his eldest daughter's name, Scott sat back down and would not mention Elena again, "Tell that bastard Harris that my tape is worth 20 dollars and he better bring the money over tomorrow."

Martin bypassed this episode and asked, "Got any cheap cell phones?"

The cellphone he had used the day before was borrowed from Mrs. Wood by Lily.

"You destitute, can you afford a cellphone?" Scott thought of a possibility, "Is it that jerk Jack is back? Tell me, where is he!"

A normal person whose spouse was led away by someone would definitely have a mortal enmity, but Scott's thought process was unusual, "Let me calculate, how many days has that jerk taken Emma away? Damn it, who knows how often they screwed, I'm going to charge per day, at least 100... no, 200 dollars a day!"

Communicating with someone not on the same wavelength was too difficult, and Martin couldn't be bothered to say anymore and prepared to leave.

However, Scott pulled out a cellphone from under the counter, "European goods, exceptionally sturdy, it can work even if you die."

Martin took it, a grey bar phone. He had used this second-hand model in his previous life, a Nokia 3210.

Feeling something was off, he turned it over and saw the back cover was cracked and glued back together, with a hole in the center of the seam.

Scott took a swig of alcohol, "This is a lucky phone, I don't show it to ordinary people. The Eagle Gang got into a fire exchange, and a guy running errands got hit by a ricochet, but the phone blocked it for him. However, the battery was ruined, and I replaced it."

Martin turned on the phone to make sure it worked normally and asked, "How much?"

Scott waved his hand, seemingly generous, "Take it."

If this had been Harris's or Elena's, Martin would've taken it outright, but this was from Scott, the rotten drunk and drug-addled wretch who, since Elena was sixteen, hadn't been willing to spend a penny on his children.

Free was the most expensive, so Martin took out 20 dollars from his pocket, placed it on the counter, and left with the cellphone.

Scott was astonished, "When did this idiot become smart?"

Martin went to set up the cell phone service, bought several newspapers, especially those on socioeconomic and entertainment issues, and returned to his rented house to read carefully.

It was essential to understand the social situation.

Atlanta's development had accelerated further since the 1996 Olympics, with the black population, making up forty percent of the total, experiencing significant improvements in their economic, political, and social status.

Accordingly, the Black Gangs, which had primarily been active in the southern part of the urban ring, started moving into the bustling city areas, causing friction with the existing white forces, leading to frequent robberies and shootings.

Martin also saw a job ad for the House of Beast in a local newspaper; the club, recently opened, was hiring male dancers.

Should he go take a look?

A chill ran down his back, and the rear window banged.

The wind had picked up.

Martin went to close the window. The backyard was overrun with weeds, and suddenly he remembered that there was a dead person buried there, in a hole he and Elena had dug.

The gentle spring breeze suddenly felt like a series of cold gusts.

Trying to jump out and scare someone? Martin decided to throw a party in the backyard in a few days, invite more people over, and make sure heavy rock and disco were on the playlist.

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After overexerting himself last night, Martin took a nap at noon and in the afternoon wandered around the Clayton Community looking for opportunities to make money quickly.

And sure enough, there were plenty, with weeds and US Dollars everywhere.

Those who didn't dabble in those sorts of things, many, like Elena, worked hourly jobs, and those with stable jobs were few and far between.

In his previous life, Martin Davis never had a stable job, spending a long time living off Elena's support, with his most frequent haunt being the Marietta Community Theater, dreaming of becoming a star.

Martin decided to go have a look.

After resting for another day, Martin's body had mostly recovered, and it happened to be the weekend when the theater had its regular activities. He simply took an old minibus to Margaret Square.

The museum honoring Margaret Mitchell, the author of "Gone with the Wind," is located here.

Martin walked towards the museum, glanced at the words "When Hollywood Meets Marietta" on the wall at the entrance, bypassed the museum, and headed to a small theater at the back.

A van was parked at the entrance of the theater, and Jerome Mitchell, dressed in formal attire, was directing people to unload. Seeing Martin, he barked orders, "Hurry up, come help!"

This was the leader of the Marietta Community Theater, who was said to have connections with the Mitchell family.

Martin purposely limped over and carried a small box into the theater.

Jerome asked, "You disappeared for a week, holding up a lot of work for the theater."

Limping past him, Martin replied, "I hurt my leg and just got out of bed. I came over as soon as I could."

Jerome's gaze was sharp, watching Martin like a boss spotting an employee slacking off.

After delivering the goods to the storage, about a dozen people moved to the small theater and sat in pairs or trios below the stage.

In America, there are over 7,000 community theaters, and Marietta is just one of the less remarkable ones.

The only thing worth noting was that Mr. T1000, Robert Patrick, joined the theater when he was younger.

Martin took a quick look and noted ten new faces he didn't recognize from his memory.

Robert the Fat man came over and asked with concern, "I heard you hurt your leg?"

Martin nodded, "Took a week off to recover." He gestured with his eyes, "A lot of newbies?"

With a resigned tone, Robert explained, "There's a lot happening at the theater, and being called over to work at the drop of a hat, we temporary actors don't have an income. With the theater membership fees due soon, some have quit. You have to fill your stomach before you can continue chasing the dream of stardom."

The choice between reality and dreams.

Jerome then walked to the center of the stage, clapped his hands sharply to gather everyone's attention, and announced, "I have a few pieces of good news to share."

Without beating around the bush, he said, "Channel Two and Grey Film Production Company are collaborating to film a plantation-themed drama. Next week, they will be recruiting actors at Midtown Art Theater. I've made contact with the casting director, so everyone will have a chance to appear."

The newcomers were excited.

However, Robert remained calm; they were only recruiting extras.

Jerome continued with a slight show-off tone, "As you all know, I have some connections in Hollywood. I've just received some heavy news—a major production starring Jim Carrey and Kate Winslet costing tens of millions, will be filming in Atlanta in the near future. They will be recruiting actors in Atlanta to cut costs, and I believe the Marietta Theatre Company can produce another Robert Patrick."

Martin carefully contemplated, what movie had Winslet and Jim Carrey worked on together?

As the tantalizing bait was thrown out, Jerome began to reel in the line, "The theater belongs to all of us; we share the public facilities, and rehearsing plays costs money, as does the daily maintenance of the theater. For this reason, the theater collects a membership fee of 300 US Dollars a month from everyone. I'm sure you all understand this point."

It wasn't about free performances but about paying to perform.

Martin, who had seen and learned much, wasn't surprised.

During his drifting days, one of his fellow villagers, a minor star, had allegedly forced her family to sell several houses just to secure a supporting role in a drama.

Such pay-to-perform situations were not unique; many people wished to pay but had no way to do so.

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