Matt Millz Stands Up!

by Harry Hill

  ‘Five years,’ said Dickie tapping the envelope with his index finger. ‘And during that time you will do what I tell you!’

  ‘No he won’t,’ came a voice from behind them.

  29

  Hope Springs Eternal

  Matt whirled round to see an elderly man in a trench coat and a fedora hat standing in the doorway. He couldn’t have been more than five feet two and his face bore a slight resemblance to someone he knew, but couldn’t quite place.

  ‘You will release him from that contract right now,’ said the stranger in what Matt recognised as a broad New York accent.

  Behind the American and more than a little out of breath was Dickie’s PA, Chenice. ‘I tried to stop him, Mr Hart, but he barged straight past me!’

  ‘Too right I did, sister,’ said the elderly gent in the hat.

  ‘Who the freak are you?’ snarled Dickie Hart.

  ‘Oh, forgive me! How impolite!’ grinned the old man, then he thrust his hand out to shake Dickie’s. ‘My name’s Buddy, Buddy Hopestein!’

  The penny dropped with a clang – that was it! The old man reminded Matt of Kitty. It was Kitty’s great-uncle Buddy!

  ‘Hang on …’ stuttered Dickie, his eyes wide in wonder and confusion. ‘You mean …? You’re the actual Buddy Hopestein? The Buddy Hopestein who runs Channel 12 in the States, and Hope Incorporated, the largest independent production company in the world?’

  ‘You know another Buddy Hopestein?’ said the old man.

  ‘Brother of Bernie Hopestein, and great-uncle of Kitty Hope!’ said Matt proudly.

  Buddy turned to Matt. ‘Correct! Hi, Matt. Kitty told me you were breaking a little bad news to our friend here, and having heard of his reputation I thought you might appreciate some help.’

  ‘Well, you may be a big shot …’ said Dickie, regaining a little of his composure.

  ‘The biggest,’ smiled Buddy.

  ‘But that doesn’t alter the fact that I’ve got a contract, signed by this little whippersnapper, for exclusive management for five whole years, which leaves another four years and three hundred and sixty days to run.’

  ‘The boy’s twelve years old!’ said Buddy.

  ‘Thought of that,’ said Dickie proudly shuffling through the contract until he found what he was looking for. ‘There, you see? Witnessed by his stepdad. It’s legally binding.’

  ‘No it’s not,’ said Buddy, undeterred. ‘And I’ll tell you why. Firstly, the contract between a comedian and his manager is a personal services one and therefore can be broken at any time, provided a notice period of no more than three months is served, although the comedian in this situation wouldn’t expect to be actively managed by the said manager during the notice period, but yes the manager would be entitled to his usual percentage of their income. That’s with a regular contract. However the problem with this contract …’ Buddy snatched the contract from Dickie’s hands and thumbed through it. ‘Ah yes, the problem with this contract is the clause where you stipulate that Matt is obliged to use your production company, your promotions company, your motion picture company, your limo company and your …’ Buddy looked surprised, ‘… your plumbing services! Really?’

  ‘Ah well, I would waive the plumbing services bit,’ said Dickie, ‘but I do run a very efficient service – there’s an initial call-out fee of —’

  ‘SILENCE!’ shouted Buddy, flourishing the contract in Dickie’s face. ‘Who negotiates Matt’s fee with Excalibur Television?’

  ‘Um, me,’ said Dickie.

  ‘And who do you negotiate it with at Excalibur Television?’

  ‘Well, with me I suppose … but—’

  ‘And who decides what Matt should get paid for gigs?’

  ‘Well, Excalibur Management talks to Excalibur Promotions …’ said Dickie.

  ‘You mean you talk to yourself again? It seems to me you don’t need a phone in this office – you need a mirror!’ said Buddy triumphantly. Matt giggled – this was starting to get interesting. ‘You’re putting yourself first. It’s a clear conflict of interests. There’s not a court in the land that would uphold this contract, and for that reason …’

  Buddy moved over to the window and before Dickie could stop him he’d flung it open and thrown Matt’s contract out of it.

  ‘NOOOoooo!’ cried Dickie running to the window and watching as the wind took the papers and scattered them to all four corners of the West End.

  Dickie turned and scowled at Buddy, who merely beamed back. Then Buddy twisted the knife even further.

  ‘And your other acts may be interested to know this information because it applies to their contracts too. Now, if you’ll excuse us, there’s work to be done. I understand you have a gig to get to, Matt?’

  ‘Er … yeah … I guess … I mean if that’s OK …’ he said, looking first at Dickie and then at Buddy.

  ‘Yeah, it’s OK,’ said Buddy turning to leave.

  ‘You’ll be hearing from my lawyer,’ snarled Dickie.

  ‘I doubt that very much,’ said Buddy, pushing past Chenice. Matt skipped down the corridor after him.

  ‘Give me a hand with this …’ said Buddy as they got level with Matt’s photo in the corridor, and between them they levered it off the wall.

  ‘Hmm, I feel a bit bad taking this,’ said Matt.

  ‘Well, don’t, you paid for it!’

  They marched on down the corridor, took the lift to the ground floor and walked past the scruffy kid on reception. It was just getting dark as they got outside. They were met by a man in a motorcycle helmet carrying a large bag.

  ‘Twelve-inch Meat Feast, potato wedges and a litre of Coke?’ he said to Matt.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Matt taking the food. Matt looked at Buddy. Buddy looked back and nodded. ‘Well, I paid for it!’

  They both laughed.

  ‘Thanks, Buddy, you saved my life back there,’ he said, shaking the older man by the hand.

  ‘Kitty showed me some of your stuff – you’re a funny kid! We need funny guys where I come from, now more than ever! Kitty probably told you I’m over on business. She also told me you could do with some moral support. Talk of the devil!’ he said looking past Matt. Matt turned to see Kitty coming round the corner to join them.

  ‘How did you get on?’ she said sheepishly.

  ‘Come here,’ said Matt and pulled her in for a big hug. ‘I can’t thank you enough. I was very nearly hung out to dry by that … that … idiot!’

  ‘Idiot’s too kind, kid,’ snorted Buddy.

  ‘If it hadn’t been for Buddy here, I would have been working for Dickie Hart for the next five years!’

  ‘The dangers of not studying a contract,’ said Buddy. ‘If you ever get asked to sign another one, get Kitty to send it over to me first.’ As they spoke, a huge Rolls Royce Phantom pulled up next to them, a chauffeur got out and opened the passenger door.

  ‘Now, I need to get to the airport. Can I give you kids a lift anywhere?’ said Buddy.

  ‘No thanks, Uncle Buddy,’ she said giving him a big hug. ‘Thanks so much for your help, but Matt’s got a gig to get to.’

  ‘Of course, yes. You know my brother would be thrilled to know you’re carrying on the family business, and I’m proud of you. Give me a call – you really should come over and see me in New York sometime, see how we do things over there. That goes for you too, Matt!’

  ‘Thanks, Mr Hopestein, thanks for everything,’ said Matt shaking his hand.

  They watched as the chauffeur helped him climb into the Rolls then followed the car’s tail lights as it gently purred up the road and out of sight.

  Matt let out a sigh of relief – what a day! And it wasn’t over yet. He looked at his watch.

  ‘Hang on, Kit, what time’s the show finish?’

  ‘About half past seven, why?’

  ‘Well, it’s half five now!’ he said tapping his watch. ‘There’s no way we’ll be able to get a train and then get from the station to the school in an hour
and a half!’

  ‘Ah, that’s where a friend of yours comes in,’ said Kitty. As she said this a large stretch limo pulled up beside them. The front tinted window lowered soundlessly and there was the familiar face of Alf, Dickie Hart’s chauffeur. ‘Ready when you are, Matt, and this one’s on me!’ he said. ‘But we’d better get a wiggle on.’

  Matt looked at Kitty and grinned. ‘You think of everything, don’t you?’ he said.

  ‘I try,’ she replied, opening the passenger door.

  They both climbed in and the car sped off into the night.

  ‘They’re a bad bunch, sir,’ said Alf, looking at Matt in his rear-view mirror. ‘I’d say you were better off out of it. Although it pains me to say it, Mr Hart has always been a nasty piece of work, ever since he was a kid.’

  ‘Since he was a kid?’ said Matt, puzzled. ‘How come you’ve known him that long?’

  ‘I’m his dad, sir. Yes, I’m ashamed to say I’m his dad. Now, we’d better get you to your gig!’

  The sleek black limo cut through London, then as they reached the outskirts the roads started to empty and Alf was able to put his foot down. ‘Hold on in the back, we might be breaking a few speed limits!’ he said.

  ‘Feels like you’re about to break the sound barrier,’ laughed Matt as they sped up the mighty M20 and back towards Kent.

  30

  Knock ’Em Dead

  ‘We’ve got five minutes to get you on that stage or Mr Gillingham will close the show with Neil!’ panted Kitty as she rushed Matt across the playground to the assembly hall.

  ‘How come?’ said Matt.

  ‘They don’t know you’re coming! I wasn’t sure whether I’d be able to get you here on time and I didn’t want to get everyone’s hopes up.’ They pushed through the double doors and into the backstage area.

  ‘Hi, Matt Millz!’ said a small girl dressed as a chicken when they whooshed past. As they got to the wings Matt was met by a couple of familiar faces.

  ‘What time do you call this?’ said Ahmed with a broad grin, slapping him on the back.

  ‘How’d you get on with the big-shot agent?’ said a concerned-looking Rob. Matt gave him the thumbs up.

  ‘I’ll tell you all about it later.’ he said. Then he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder – it was Alex. ‘Good to see you, Matt,’ she said. Matt gave her hand a squeeze.

  ‘Neil’s only got a couple of minutes to go,’ said Kitty, snapping Matt into the here and now.

  He looked through the black drapes at the stage. Neil was in full flow, but he wasn’t in his usual get-up. He was in a black tracksuit and Nike trainers, he’d had his hair plaited into tight braids, and he wasn’t dancing, he was rapping – the crowd were loving it. ‘He’s got really good!’ said Matt, turning to Kitty.

  ‘I know,’ she said proudly. ‘I always believed in him, he just needed to believe in himself.’

  Matt nodded and glanced at the list of stuff he’d written on his hand in the limo. It wasn’t a set list as such – he hadn’t had time to write any proper jokes. It was more just a loose collection of ideas, stuff about what he’d been up to – Ahmed’s brush with Amelia Wong, Nelson the pigeon, Mr Tubbs’ hilarious breakdown, his visit to The Comedy Store.

  He felt a rush of nervous energy which he knew was down to adrenaline. It wasn’t a scary feeling like he’d experienced last night at the Apollo, but one of excitement, like a sprinter waiting for the starter pistol, or a boxer waiting for the bell to ring for the first round. Neil finished up – no splits this time – and there was a huge round of applause from the crowd. Matt and the others joined in.

  ‘Hey, Matt!’ said Neil as he walked from the stage to the wings. ‘You made it!’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Matt. ‘Listen, that was awesome! How’d you get so good?’

  ‘Practice I guess,’ he shrugged. Suddenly he was back to the same shy boy that he had been a few weeks ago.

  Mr Gillingham had picked up the mic. ‘Well, I think you’ll agree we’ve had a great time here tonight …’ he said. ‘I’d like you to join me in thanking Mr Pavey for agreeing to it all …’

  ‘He’s wrapping it up,’ hissed Matt to Kitty.

  ‘What?’ she said with a frown. ‘He hasn’t seen you!’ She started waving her arms, then jumping up and down but Mr Gillingham was at the front of the stage now, addressing the audience – she wasn’t even in his field of vision.

  ‘So all that remains is for me to say thanks to all those who …’ he continued. Suddenly there was an ear-piercing noise like an injured seagull. Matt looked round – it was Ahmed with his fingers in his mouth, whistling. Mr G hesitated, then turned his head to see where the noise had come from and finally caught sight of Matt and Kitty furiously waving at him. His face broke into a huge grin and he nodded to Matt. He then turned back to the audience.

  ‘But before I do that …’ he said, ‘I’ve got a very special surprise for you!’

  A murmur went through the crowd as they tried to guess what was coming next.

  ‘Will you please put your hands together for Anglebrook’s most famous son – come on out, Matt!’

  Matt took a couple of steps on to the stage – there was a stunned silence, then the whole room erupted. Kids were clapping, kids were cheering and stamping their feet. Matt felt a lump in his throat, and tears welled up in his eyes. He approached Mr Gillingham to take the microphone and shook him by the hand.

  ‘Knock ’em dead!’ said Mr G.

  And that’s exactly what he did!

  That’s all from him, for now anyway.

  Goodnight!

  About the Author

  Harry Hill is one of the UK’s finest and most original stand-up comedians. His unique brand of humour has been rewarded with numerous awards, countless nominations and many accolades.

  Born in Woking in 1964, Harry grew up in Kent, then qualified as a doctor. Luckily for us, he decided to focus on his comedy career, and the rest, as they say, is history!

  About the Illustrator

  Steve May is an animation director and freelance illustrator. Steve was born in 1968 in Hastings and spent his childhood drawing and discovering interesting ways of injuring himself. After studying Fine Art and film-making, Steve completed an MA in Animation. He has illustrated books by Jeremy Strong and Philip Reeve, as well as the Dennis the Menace series.

  Copyright

  First published in 2018

  by Faber & Faber Limited

  Bloomsbury House,

  74–77 Great Russell Street,

  London WC1B 3DA

  This ebook edition first published in 2018

  All rights reserved

  Text © Harry Hill, 2018

  Illustrations © Steve May, 2018

  The right of Harry Hill and Steve May to be identified as author and illustrator of this work respectively has been asserted in accordance with Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly

  ISBN 978–0–571–33252–6