Matt Millz Stands Up!

by Harry Hill

  ‘Now you know how your friends feel!’ laughed Rob.

  Kitty’s phone buzzed again and she handed it to Matt. ‘It’s Sally from Breakfast With Tubbs.’ she whispered.

  ‘Listen, I can see you’re busy. If that’s everything, Kit, I’ll catch up with you later yeah?’ said Rob getting up to leave.

  ‘Yeah, I’ve got plenty of stuff I need to do too,’ said Ahmed following suit.

  Kitty nodded. Meanwhile Matt was deep in conversation with the Breakfast With Tubbs researcher.

  ‘Elevenses at Greggs?’ whispered Rob, sidling up to him.

  ‘I’ll be there,’ nodded Matt, waving at Rob, Ahmed and the others as they started towards the classroom door, then he turned back to the job in hand – the job of selling himself. ‘That’s right, Sally, I could see Simon and David laughing as soon as I did my first joke …’ Kitty noticed that his confidence had almost doubled since the first call.

  An hour later, he was just finishing up with someone whose name he couldn’t even remember but who worked on Late Lunch with Phillip and Haley. That hesitant first exchange he’d had with Mo had now become a slick series of anecdotes with its own pace, gags and rhythm.

  ‘Yeah, see you tomorrow …’ said Matt, signing off and handing the phone back to Kitty for the last time. ‘Phew!’ he said, slumping back into one of the old school chairs exhausted.

  ‘See?’ said Kitty after she’d finalised the details with the production company and hung up. ‘You may just be talking on the phone or in a studio, but you’re expending a lot of nervous energy, and energy’s energy after all.’

  ‘I know just the antidote for low energy,’ said Matt looking at his watch.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘A jam doughnut! If you need me I’ll be in Greggs!’ he said heading towards the door.

  ‘Hang on,’ said Kitty. ‘Remember you’ve got Sunday at Six later!’

  ‘Text me, yeah?’ said Matt then added, ‘Smiley face, pineapple, knife and fork! Bowl of noodles! Doughnut!’ Before Kitty could reply he was through the door and running across the playing field towards the hole in the fence.

  5

  A Mysterious Stranger

  Greggs was a nightmare. From the moment he walked in he became the centre of attention. In other words, constant interruptions from people asking for autographs or selfies, usually both.

  ‘Would you sign my hand, Matt?’

  ‘Would you sign my leg, Matt?’

  ‘Would you sign my bum?’

  It was plain crazy. It felt like every single mobile phone in the place was pointed at Matt Millz.

  ‘Sorry, Matt, I can see you’re on your private time but can I get a selfie?’

  ‘Can I get one too, darlin’?’

  ‘My turn now please. Oh no, hang on … I can’t get the thing to work …’

  ‘Give it here,’ said Rob testily, trying to rescue Matt for the umpteenth time. He snatched the phone from the middle-aged lady’s hand and snapped a photo of her and Matt together.

  ‘Technically that’s not a selfie,’ said Matt.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ said the middleaged lady.

  ‘Well, you didn’t actually take it yourself did you? So it’s not a selfie, so strictly speaking it’s not valid,’ explained Matt, enjoying winding the lady up.

  ‘Oh!’ she said looking a little flummoxed. ‘Can I get another one then? Coz that don’t count?’

  ‘Hurry up, luv, there’s a few of us waiting!’ said a gruff bloke behind her in a fluorescent jacket and a hard hat.

  ‘I’ll take as long I need to, thank you very much!’ said the lady turning angrily to confront the man.

  ‘Just get a move on,’ the man snapped. The woman gave him a shove and he fell back, tripped over a chair and tumbled to the floor. Another so-called fan went to help him up, but the man pushed him aside into the middle-aged woman, who pushed him back, and before they knew it there was a full-scale brawl going down. Matt looked at Rob and nodded.

  ‘I think this is where we escape,’ he said and the pair made a beeline for the door. Unfortunately, by now word had got out that Matt was in the shop and there was a huge bottleneck of people cramming in at the door.

  The boys looked around for an escape route and saw Doris behind the counter, beckoning to them.

  ‘This way!’ she said urgently.

  ‘Come on,’ said Rob and they headed towards her. As they got close she lifted a section of the counter top up allowing them into the kitchen, then slammed it back down hard to stop anyone else from following.

  ‘Follow me!’ she said leading them through the kitchen, past the various ovens and fryers, and finally to a door that opened to the road behind the shop.

  ‘Cor! You’re a lifesaver, Doris! Thanks so much!’ gushed Matt.

  ‘No problem,’ said Doris, reaching into the pocket of her overalls, ‘but you do understand don’t you?’ she said, holding up her smartphone.

  ‘Of course,’ said Matt, putting his arm round her as she snapped a selfie.

  ‘Thanks, darlin’,’ said a very happy Doris. ‘Now scarper before that lot cotton on!’

  The two friends didn’t stop running until they were a safe distance from the high street and wandering through the sleepy suburban roads that made up the majority of the town.

  ‘This is crazy, Matt!’ said Rob leaning up against a lamp post and catching his breath.

  ‘Yeah, you’re right,’ said Matt. ‘I’ve only been famous for about twelve hours and already it’s starting to wind me up! But it can’t last …’

  ‘Oi! Come back ’ere!’ came a voice. They both looked behind them to see, in the distance, the man in the hard hat and fluorescent jacket from Greggs and a whole bunch of selfie-seekers running towards them.

  ‘What do we do now?’ cried Rob.

  ‘Search me!’ said Matt. He couldn’t keep this up all day.

  As he spoke there was a squeal of tyres and a huge black stretch limousine pulled up next to them.

  The door swung open with a silent smoothness that spoke of luxury and a voice from the dark interior called out to them.

  ‘Jump in!’

  Matt looked at Rob.

  ‘We’re not supposed to accept lifts from strangers! What do you think?’

  ‘Quick! Jump in!’ came the voice again.

  Rob looked down the road at the approaching mob and shrugged. ‘What choice have we got?’ he said and they both dived into the limo. The door closed behind them and the huge car quietly glided off down the road.

  *

  It took a while for Matt’s eyes to grow accustomed to the dark interior of the luxury vehicle. There was a strong smell of leather and some sort of pine aftershave. There was a line of LEDs that followed the shape of the seats and trim, creating a soft glow. After a few moments he could make out the rough figure of a man sitting at the far end, with his back to the driver. He was holding a cut-glass tumbler of what looked like whisky and ice.

  ‘Hi, Matt,’ said the man reaching forward and shaking Matt by the hand, the ice clinking gently in his glass. ‘My name is Richard Hart, although most people call me Dickie and I run the Excalibur Management Group.’

  Matt studied the man’s face. His skin was pale, like he hadn’t seen daylight for years. There were a number of small scars on his cheeks and a dimple on his chin. He had a couple of deep furrows etched into his forehead which held his face in a sort of scowl. The whole picture was framed by a jet-black quiff and sideburns that had obviously been dyed. He looked to Matt a bit like a crow had crash-landed on a snowman. He wore a long black leather coat over a light grey three-piece suit and snakeskin cowboy boots.

  ‘Thanks for the lift, Mr Hart,’ said Rob. ‘Cool car!’

  ‘Yeah, got a few of these,’ said Mr Hart, scratching his chin. ‘I thought you might need some help. That’s the business I’m in really, helping young talented people like yourself, Matt. Chewing gum?’ he added, offering him an open packet of
Wrigley’s.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Matt taking one and popping it into his mouth.

  Matt was sure he’d heard of Excalibur Management, but couldn’t quite remember how or where he’d seen the name.

  ‘I look after a couple of people you might have heard of, like Russel Perkins …’ Mr Hart continued.

  Suddenly the penny dropped – that was it! Russel Perkins – a young comic in his mid twenties – who was already selling out arenas with his combination of boyish good looks and observational humour. It wasn’t to Matt or Rob’s taste – they considered it a little too mainstream, too broad, kind of derivative, lacking the edge of, say, their comedy hero Eddie Odillo, but there was no doubt he was a big star. Russel had a late-night TV show on Channel 4 called Scoff at the Week, billed in the papers as a ‘sideways look at the week’s news’. How would you look sideways at the news? Matt wondered. Surely it would just make it much more difficult to read? He’d seen the name Excalibur at the end of the show, credited as the production company.

  ‘You make Scoff at the Week, right?’ asked Matt.

  Dickie Hart nodded. ‘Yes we do. We take care of all aspects of Russel’s career – promoting his tours, doing press and marketing. We make all his TV shows exclusively in all territories throughout the universe …’

  ‘Hmm, throughout the universe!’ said Rob. ‘What are the ratings like for Scoff at the Week on Mars?’ he joked. Mr Hart ignored him and pressed on with his sales pitch.

  ‘We even arrange his haircuts … and it’s a service I think you could really benefit from, Matt …’

  ‘Oh, I quite like the quiff!’ said Matt, putting a hand up to his hair as if checking it was still there.

  ‘Not the hair so much, my agency. I’ve got to be frank with you, Matt – I thought you were fantastic on The T Factor. I think in the right hands you’ve got a bright future ahead of you in this business.’

  ‘Well, that’s very kind of you, Mr Hart …’

  ‘Please, call me Dickie,’ said the agent, leaning forward with a smile that revealed a small piece of spinach stuck to one of his front teeth.

  ‘Er … OK … er, Dickie … it’s a kind offer but I’ve already got a manager so …’ Mr Hart leant even further forward, right up to Matt’s face and cut him off mid sentence.

  ‘Yes, Kitty … er …’ he said struggling to remember Kitty’s name.

  ‘Hope!’ interjected Rob. ‘Kitty Hope. She’s amazing!’

  ‘Yes, she’s eleven years old as I understand it?’ said Dickie.

  Matt nodded. ‘You’re right, she’s young but like Rob says, she really knows what she’s talking about you see …’

  ‘Hmm, has she got any other acts on her books?’

  ‘Oh yes!’ said Matt brightly. ‘She looks after Neil Trottman …’

  ‘Who is …?’ asked Dickie raising an eyebrow.

  ‘Oh … um … well, he’s a body-popper, he’s ten …’

  ‘So she’s got you and a ten-year-old body-popper?’ said Dickie nodding his head.

  ‘Yes, well she hasn’t been going long …’ said Matt defensively.

  ‘It’s entirely up to you of course, Matt. I’m sure this Kitty will become a very successful agent one day. I’m only thinking of your best interests. I know I can get you the best deals, the best offers, the best exposure and, with a bit of luck, propel your career into the stratosphere!’ he said reaching into the side pocket of the limo door and handing Matt a glossy brochure. Matt took it and read aloud the legend embossed on the front: ‘Excalibur Management Group …’ he said. ‘Pulling the sword of talent from the rock of ineptitude!’

  ‘Yeah that’s our slogan,’ said Mr Hart. ‘I was quite pleased with it … we offer a one-size-fits-all service that is guaranteed to get results …’

  Matt flicked through the brochure which showed full-colour photos of Russel Perkins and others on stage and in various TV shows, then closed it and handed it back to Dickie Hart.

  ‘Well, it’s very kind of you to think of me but I’m with Kitty Hope and she knows me pretty well, so she can fit stuff in that suits me best …’

  ‘Sorry, did I say one size fits all?’ said Mr Hart, backtracking. ‘I meant bespoke. Yeah, we offer a bespoke service, tailor-made to fit the specific individual needs of our clients …’

  ‘That’s very impressive I’m sure,’ continued Matt, determined to change the subject, ‘but as I say, I’m very happy with the …’

  ‘That’s fine …’ said the stranger in the leather coat. ‘I just know how fragile fame can be if you don’t play it right. I’ve seen so many start well with a big fanfare, then poof! It’s all over in the blink of an eye. Remember Frank Took?’

  Matt shook his head.

  ‘Exactly! Five-minute wonder. What about Jenny Cake?’

  ‘Hang on!’ said Matt – he’d heard of Jenny. There’d been a lot of fuss about her a few years ago, then nothing. ‘You managed Jenny didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes I did and she didn’t take my advice. Now where is she? Up Nowhere Creek without a paddle. Russel Perkins on the other hand is following my advice well – and just look at him! One of the top TV acts in the country! He’s playing the O2 Arena for two whole weeks starting Tuesday night.’

  ‘That’s very impressive, I’m sure,’ said Matt, ‘but it doesn’t change the fact that—’

  ‘I can get you and your mates tickets if you’d like?’ said Mr Hart, raising a sly eyebrow.

  ‘That would be great!’ interjected Rob. Although Matt and Rob weren’t particular fans of Russel’s work, free tickets to an arena show …? It was a no-brainer!

  ‘Er … Yes! I guess, um … Yeah we’d love to come,’ agreed Matt.

  ‘No problem. I’ll put four tickets in your name at the box office and just to be sure you get there on time, I’ll send a car for you.’

  ‘Result!’ said Rob.

  ‘Wow! Thanks,’ said Matt, feeling slightly uneasy about taking something for nothing. ‘But, just to be clear, I’m very happy with my manager so …’

  ‘No need to make a decision now,’ said Dickie Hart firmly but gently. ‘I understand your loyalty to this … girl … it’s highly commendable – in fact we value loyalty extremely highly at Excalibur. All I’m saying is keep me in mind, that’s all.’

  The limo slowed to a halt and Mr Hart pointed out of the window.

  ‘This is your place I believe,’ he said. ‘Nice talking to you, Matt.’

  Matt squinted out of the window. Sure enough, the limo had pulled up outside his house.

  ‘That’s right! But how did you know where I live?’ he spluttered, confused.

  ‘Oh, I know everything,’ said Dickie Hart handing Matt his business card. ‘Give me a bell if you need to talk.’

  ‘Thanks, Mr Hart, much appreciated,’ said Matt.

  Dickie Hart nodded and pressed a button in the armrest of his seat. There was a clunk and the door swung open. Matt and Rob scrambled across the leather seats and out on to the pavement and the door swung shut behind them.

  ‘Be seeing you,’ said the mysterious Mr Hart, pressing another button. The window rose silently shut until Matt was left standing staring at his own reflection in the tinted glass. Then the limo purred quietly off down the road. Matt and Rob followed it with their eyes and then turned to one another.

  ‘Now that’s what I call persistent,’ said Rob. ‘But you know, maybe he’s right, maybe you should think about new management? I mean, Kitty’s great but … Russel Perkins is massive!’

  ‘Yeah he is, Rob, but you’re forgetting one thing …’ said Matt.

  ‘What’s that?’ said Rob.

  ‘He’s not very funny, is he?’

  Rob laughed. ‘You’re right! Ha ha! Come on, I’m gasping for a cup of tea!’

  ‘Oh, hang on a sec,’ said Matt reaching into his pocket and retrieving his brown paper bag.

  ‘What the …?’ asked Rob watching wide-eyed as Matt carefully slipped it over his head.


  ‘Don’t ask,’ replied Matt and the two lads headed past the paps, Gary and the other autograph hunters, up the garden path to the house.

  6

  Sunday at Six

  ‘A very nice man from Guinevere Management came round earlier …’ said Matt’s mum, plonking down two big mugs of tea and a slice of carrot cake each in front of Matt and Rob.

  ‘Excalibur!’ said Ian, poking his head round the door. ‘He was most impressive wasn’t he, Jenny?’

  ‘He had a very expensive coat on, I noticed that, and a limo! He was asking me all about the Dachshund Five – said he might be interested in taking them to the next level … Not sure they’d take kindly to a new face though. The last time I took them to that new grooming parlour on Stonebridge High Street, Mr Topps La-La Fitzpatrick bit the girl on the till! They don’t like change,’ added Matt’s mum.

  ‘Yeah, but he’s obviously doing very well judging by the brochure,’ said Ian, producing a copy of the same booklet that Dickie had handed Matt. ‘I mean, look at the quality of the paper it’s printed on! Must have cost a fortune! Yes, he’s obviously loaded and he seemed …’

  ‘A tad creepy?’ suggested Matt.

  Rob laughed. ‘Ha! Yeah he was a bit!’

  ‘Well, yes, maybe a bit creepy,’ said Ian, ‘but very keen to get involved – he was even interested in managing my old punk band …’

  ‘Your old punk band?’ said Matt a little gobsmacked.

  ‘I don’t think that’s worth resurrecting!’ said Matt’s mum rolling her eyes to the heavens as she opened a tin of dog food.

  ‘But you said you hadn’t seen any of the old band since you were eighteen,’ said Matt.

  ‘Yeah, well they got in touch!’ said Ian excitedly.

  ‘Got in touch? All of them? When?’ asked Matt.

  ‘This morning after you’d left! They’d seen my picture with you in the paper and tracked me down via Facebook. You’re not gonna believe this, Matt, but Dead Toys might be getting back together! We’ve got a rehearsal round at the drummer’s house tomorrow night!’