Chapter 448: Handprints at the Chinese Theatre

"On what grounds?" Nia Okoro subconsciously retorted.

"On the grounds that Chen just helped you save several million dollars."

Although Allison Graham was truly an arrogant, rude, and nasty woman, after calming down, Nia had to admit that what she said did indeed have some merit.

However, she was only a publicity director. It wasn't up to her to increase the budget.

Thus, while still on the way back to the hotel, Nia dialed her direct supervisor's number.

After only two rings, the call was picked up.

Nia Okoro was a bit nervous, fearing she would be accused of incompetence, so she immediately said, "Sorry to bother you so late, Rob, I'm here..."

"It's fine."

"What?" Nia's words were suddenly interrupted; she couldn't help but be stunned, feeling a bit confused.

"I said it's fine."

"Uh, what is fine?"

"We can cover this money."

Nia was suddenly taken aback: "Huh?"

"What, didn't you call to talk about this?"

"No... yes, yes... but, Rob, how did you know?" Nia was truly surprised to the extreme.

For a moment, she even began to suspect whether that shrewd old Jewish fox, Rob Friedman, had planted a mole in her team. Otherwise, how could he know before she had even said anything?

But the voice coming through the Bluetooth headset was overly calm, sounding not the least bit guilty: "I've been watching the ABC broadcast, Nia."

"So?"

"So I witnessed the whole process. Now you just need to tell me—what did the TV station say? How was the effect?"

"Very good!" Nia's tone suddenly became excited, "The people at ABC said it was just a little bit short of breaking the ratings record set by Pitt and Jolie when they were promoting *Kung Fu Panda*!"

But Rob Friedman on the other end of the phone still spoke in a flat tone: "That's good, let's do it then, put the money on our account."

"Okay, but..."

Nia wanted to ask more, but the other party was clearly in a mediocre mood and did not intend to continue the topic, cutting her off, "That's it then, Nia, good job. I need to sleep. Good night."

"Uh, good night."

A busy signal came from the Bluetooth headset. Nia Okoro hung up the phone in a daze, pondered for a while, and still couldn't figure it out. If it wasn't for an inside connection, why did they agree so quickly before she had even asked for the money?

How did he know?

Was it precognition? That would be too magical, right?

But soon, Nia cast these puzzles and wild thoughts to the back of her mind.

In any case, the matter was resolved.

As a "mouthpiece" caught between the big stars and the company, she had finally survived another hurdle.

Now, she should focus her attention on tomorrow morning's promotional event.

The fact that the three leads could pass the review of the Chinese Theatre's senior committee was, of course, thanks to money. But leaving handprints at the theatre undoubtedly represented the recognition of the *Twilight* youth idol drama by the mainstream Hollywood circle.

From the harsh criticism encountered by the first film, to the gradual change in tone for the second, and finally to gaining mainstream recognition for the third.

As a former outsider and a veteran publicity manager who had been grinding away in Hollywood for nearly twenty years, she certainly knew that the real reason behind this was nothing more than two aspects:

Money,

And—

Huge popularity.

December 6th, 9:00 AM sharp.

Sunlight pierced through the clear winter sky, spilling onto the busiest section of Hollywood Boulevard.

Jimmy Kimmel, wearing a well-pressed dark suit, stood on the stage built outside the Chinese Theatre. The early morning sun poured down from above his side, making it hard for him to open his eyes.

"Wow." He squinted, speaking into the microphone on the podium, "First of all, I want to welcome everyone here on this beautiful morning. But I don't know if vampires can come out now?"

After saying this, he paused.

Laughter and applause erupted immediately from all directions.

Jimmy Kimmel smiled and continued: "But I bet they will. They will definitely risk their lives to come out and see you. Because it is the enthusiastic support of you fans that has created the incredible legend of *Twilight* today."

As soon as he finished speaking, excited screams and whistling sounds erupted instantly.

Jimmy Kimmel squinted and looked at the audience below.

In his blurry field of vision, there were heads of all colors, dense and endless. Traffic on the entire stretch of Hollywood Boulevard had long been blocked. The organizers had prepared for this, having applied for road control permits from the Los Angeles Police Department in advance, so a large number of police were arranged at the scene to maintain order, with many police cars parked nearby and police patrolling the perimeter, standing by at any time.

The crowd surged like a tide, with countless arms raised high. Some held digital cameras, some recorded with mobile phones, and others waved hand-drawn portraits, homemade light boards, and various support posters. About 70% of them were of one person, while the remaining 30% were split between the lead actress and the second male lead.

The windows of all the rooms in the Roosevelt Hotel facing this area were also almost all open. People stood behind every window, some with video cameras, some with binoculars, all aimed at the stage.

Such a scene was extremely rare even in Jimmy Kimmel's dozen-year hosting career, making him unable to help but feel a trace of jealousy in his heart.

He cleared his throat, waited for the sound below to subside slightly, and leaned close to the microphone again, smiling as he said:

"Today is a big day. Movie stars from all over the world want to press their hands and feet into the cement here, but only a very few can truly earn this honor."

"I mean—this is a great honor. You look at these names around, um... except for Matt Damon, they are all very great. These superstars come here, leave their handprints or footprints, and these marks will remain here forever, making their names a part of history. This is a very exciting thing."

"So, thank you for coming here today to witness all this. Now I think the whole United States knows that *Twilight* fans are the most enthusiastic."

These words sparked another round of screams and cheers.

When the noise died down a bit, Jimmy Kimmel continued: "Let us thank Summit Entertainment for arranging this event. Before the event starts, we have also prepared a special gift for you. Let us welcome this lady, because of her, there is all this incredible..."

Inside the Chinese Theatre, the lounge door was opened, and a blonde, round-faced, somewhat honest-looking Black sister poked her head in and said: "Excuse me, Ms. Meyer, it will be your turn to go on stage soon."

Stephenie Meyer—the original author of *Twilight*—a plump, dark-haired woman in her 30s with a certain charm, stood up from the sofa reluctantly and said: "It was a pleasure talking to you, Chen, I'll head over now."

Chen Nuo also stood up and took the initiative to reach out: "I also enjoyed talking to you, Stephenie."

Stephenie Meyer shook his hand and then gave him a cheek hug. When they separated, the two looked at each other for a second. Stephenie looked into his eyes, smiled suddenly, turned around, and walked out the door.

The Black sister said again: "Chen, Kristen, and... um, you guys get ready too, it will be your turn soon."

When Taylor Lautner heard that "um," he felt like he had been stabbed in the heart.

As an actor, what could be harder to accept than finishing a movie and only getting a "um" as a designation from his own company's publicity director?

If there was anything, it could only be that one person.

Not only was his role snatched at the beginning, but in the end, his girlfriend was also snatched.

At least he could still manage to get the qualification to leave handprints at the Chinese Theatre.

Thinking of this, the young Indian felt a little better.

Of course, this kind of self-psychological comfort was definitely an ancestral skill for him. If Indians didn't know how to think, how could they survive?

Chen Nuo put the note in his hand into his pants pocket without changing his expression. This was actually an ancestral skill for him too. Passed down from his previous life. From the moment something suddenly appeared in his hand to the final eye-contact farewell, he didn't show any abnormality, which made Stephenie smile with satisfaction.

However, he guessed the woman must have misunderstood.

He was currently carrying a heavy responsibility.

A fling without consequences was one thing, but for a woman like this who had a husband, children, and money, he would rather keep his distance.

When such a woman goes crazy, she is truly impenetrable and money can't fix it.

Unlike Theron, he just sent a sum of money over every month.

As a result, last night he really didn't say anything, didn't even hint, and as soon as he returned to his home in Beverly Hills, he received a call, and the woman actually took the initiative to come over, which really made him... sigh, blame it on the fact that there are too many easy girls in America, there's really no way, making him, who is always fine back home, have to change into a different person every time he comes here.

Having been squeezed by the little motor all night, he found it difficult to get up this morning and was truly exhausted at this moment.

As soon as Stephenie left, he yawned. He really wanted to lean somewhere and sleep, but just as Nia said, it would be their turn soon, so he could only close his eyes and rest for a little while.

But someone had no sense of the situation and kept nagging in his ear.

"Chen, you look very tired."

"Hmm."

"So, would you like me to pour you a cup of coffee?"

"No need, thanks." "Then... tea?"

"No."

"Then do you want..."

Chen Nuo couldn't help it. Without opening his eyes, he deepened his tone and said: "Kristen, either shut up or get out."

The next second, the noise in his ear finally stopped.

At the same time, the previously chattering lounge also became quiet.

When Nia Okoro took Stephenie Meyer out just now, she didn't close the door, so the sound came from outside, and it was quite clear.

"...I am very grateful to every one of them. Their dedication to the characters moved me very much, and I will always be grateful for everything they have done. I know they have gone through many difficulties."

"Being able to receive such an honor today, being able to become a part of Hollywood history, and being listed alongside the names of other amazing artists here, this is really cool. I am proud of them..."

"Among them, I especially want to thank one person, he is..."

Huge applause and screams erupted, forming a sharp contrast with the quiet room in the theatre at this moment.

"From the first film to the last one this year, we all know that in the past few years, his life has undergone tremendous changes, but I am gratified to see that in such great changes, he has maintained his inner balance, and during the filming, he has maintained a kind, gentle, and friendly temperament toward everyone..."

Taylor Lautner stole a glance at the man who was described as "kind, gentle, and friendly," and then looked at the woman sitting on the side, her face flushed and somewhat embarrassed.

He had also seen what Kristen Stewart, now a popular Hollywood idol actress, looked like when she was with her ex-boyfriend. At that time, she was not like this. In front of Robert, her speech and demeanor had a sense of being high and mighty, just like a noble princess.

However, now... hehe, the former princess was reprimanded like a servant, yet she didn't dare to utter a word.

The two different attitudes were filled with that stench of realistic utilitarianism, making Taylor Lautner suddenly feel disgusted, with a feeling of wanting to vomit.

Not only disgusted by this woman, but also disgusted by himself.

And after that sentence, despite there being over a dozen people present, the entire room was as quiet as if it were empty.

It’s all fucking disgusting!

Hollywood, this is the motherfucking Hollywood!

Fuck these snobbish bastards; they are all just mongrels who judge people by their status.

He didn't belong here; this wasn't a place for him.

"Now let me hand the microphone back to Jimmy, so he can invite today's protagonists to the stage..." the voice of Stephenie Meyer continued to come through.

At this moment, the door was pushed open again, and Nia called out: "Alright, guys, come on, it's your turn to go on stage now."

Taylor Lautner immediately let out a sigh of relief, stood up without hesitation, and walked toward the door.

"Now let us invite today's stars and legends, Taylor Lautner, Kristen Stewart, and... Chen Nuo!"

Following Jimmy Kimmel's introduction, Chen Nuo walked out of the main entrance of the Chinese Theatre, about two steps behind Kristen.

The sun was very bright outside; no wonder Allison had specifically reminded him to wear sunglasses earlier.

He didn't know when so many people had arrived outside; no wonder it had been so noisy the whole time.

He followed them onto the stage, with screams coming from all directions. Following Allison's instructions, he smiled and waved everywhere. Whichever way he faced, the cheering from that side would grow louder; this feeling was truly like performing at a concert.

Kristen Stewart gave some remarks, followed by Taylor Lautner.

To his surprise, even though it was improvised, this Indian lad actually spoke quite well and fluently, much better than Kristen's messy speech, which made him look at the lad with new eyes.

However, could it be that the woman's ability to organize her language had declined because she was feeling a bit restless?

But, one really couldn't blame him for that just now.

He actually didn't have much ill will toward Kristen; that scene in the sea, when it came down to it, was just to add value to the film. He could be considered as having sacrificed for art, so there wasn't really any problem.

He simply felt a physiological dislike for this woman because of what he had heard and seen in his previous life. Therefore, when this woman, known to later generations for being emotional, non-mainstream, and promiscuous, tried to get close, he could only discourage her rather impolitely.

After Taylor Lautner finished, it was his turn to speak.

At this moment, Chen Nuo didn't feel particularly excited.

It wasn't the Venice or Oscar awards ceremony. He could achieve a Grand Slam at the former, and he could fulfill a long-held wish at the latter.

Leaving handprints at the Chinese Theatre, leaving a star on the Walk of Fame.

To speak bluntly, he felt he would be able to do it sooner or later. Now it was just a matter of coincidence that the timing had been moved up.

Besides, this was just a marketing handprint; there was really no need to be too excited.

What is a marketing handprint?

The nominations and selections for stars on the Hollywood Walk of Fame are generally decided in June each year by the Hollywood Chamber of Commerce's Walk of Fame Selection Committee; it is a proper, official process.

And the Chinese Theatre?

It is more commercial.

Leaving prints here is divided into two types. The first is a historical mark, preserved eternally. The second, like what they were doing now, is for film marketing.

The first type remains in the forecourt of the Chinese Theatre, becoming a part of history. The second type, after the marketing is over, is moved elsewhere, such as to some warehouse or a trash heap.

Like someone surnamed Gang in 2013, or someone surnamed Wei and someone surnamed Ming in 2015—that was exactly the case.

Especially that year with Wei and Ming; when promoting a movie in 2015, they paid to leave prints, and afterward, they even self-directed and self-acted a post on Weibo to express their gratitude, making it look like the real thing.

Seeing such operations, Chen Nuo had laughed until his stomach hurt back then.

Now that it was his turn, of course, there was nothing worth being happy about.

Although currently, among Asians with handprints in the Chinese Theatre plaza, there were only Li Xiaolong and Cheng Long, and he could now claim to be the first from the mainland to leave a print to fool the common people,

But he couldn't fool himself; this print would likely be gone in two months, so what was there to be proud of?

At this moment, he stood calmly in front of the podium, waiting for maybe five seconds; finally, the noise from the fans below lessened, and he was able to speak normally.

Out of politeness, he took off his sunglasses and said: "Thank you all..."

Chen Nuo spoke for less than 30 seconds in total; perhaps because his acting was quite on point, he had to pause three times in the middle. Each time, it took about three to five seconds to wait for things to quiet down.

He also took this opportunity to greet the guests in the Roosevelt Hotel above. These people were definitely high-spending individuals who could certainly afford to go to the cinema, so they had to be given special attention.

This, in turn, caused a stir of excitement among the wealthy and noble men and women in the hotel.

After he finished speaking, the fans below caused another commotion, forcing him to pull himself together and smile while nodding to everyone.

In short, while Kristen or the Indian handsome guy took less than a minute combined, he alone spent nearly 3 minutes, and only then did the moment for leaving the prints finally arrive.

A specially treated cement mold platform was carefully carried up by the staff.

First was the signature.

Chen Nuo held a special iron-tipped pen and earnestly wrote his name in the cement—"Chen Nuo" in Chinese.

Then came the handprints and footprints.

After all, it was December; when he put his hands into the cement, it felt wet and cold, which was very uncomfortable. After leaving them there for a while and pulling them out, his palms were covered in gray-black slurry.

There was nothing much to say about the footprints; he just stood on it, stepped on it, and got off when the staff said it was okay.

Of course, during this process, the camera flashes of the media reporters who had come today were constantly going off, taking pictures the whole time.

After leaving the footprints, he wiped his hands clean with a towel, thinking it was all over, but the manager of the Chinese Theatre said to him: "Chen, could you leave one more mark?"

"Hmm? What do you mean?"

"Just your own unique mark. Like John Barrymore, who left his profile mark in 1940, or Marilyn Monroe, who used her earring to dot the letter 'i' in her signature in 1953. In 1990, Whoopi Goldberg left her dreadlocks, and in 2008, Emma Watson and Daniel Radcliffe left their wands. Jacky Chen also left his nose print here in 2002. We would like to invite you, just like them, to leave a unique symbol you are proud of."

After the manager finished speaking, the area around Chen Nuo suddenly went quiet.

Kristen Stewart and Taylor Lautner, Allison and Nia, as well as Stephenie Meyer and Jimmy Kimmel, who were preparing to come over to take photos with the protagonists, all looked over at once. Surprise, joy, jealousy, envy, dejection... every person's eyes held different emotions.

Because this was not the treatment for a marketing handprint.

The Chinese Theatre would not go to such great lengths for something with a two-month shelf life.

This was an eternal mark, just like those of Marilyn Monroe, John Barrymore, and Marlon Brando. It was completely different from Kristen's and the Indian lad's.

Chen Nuo subconsciously looked down, then realized that in such a public place, it shouldn't be that, so he looked up and frowned: "What are you referring to?"

The manager gestured in front of his face with his hand and smiled.

(End of chapter)