After a modest breakfast, Martin set out alone. After a night’s rest, his leg pain had improved further, and the memories of his former self were becoming increasingly vivid.
With his health on the mend, he knew he couldn’t waste time—there was much to be done.
Martin stored the burned discs and, carrying his JVC camera, headed to the grocery store on the north side of the neighborhood.
At dawn, Scott Carter was already drinking. The sunlight illuminated his face, making his nose as bright as a traffic light.
Martin placed the camera on the counter, "Here’s your camera back, and by the way, Harris has received treatment."
Scott, surprisingly setting down his bottle, stood up to inspect the camera with intense scrutiny. His nose grew even redder, "Kid, where’s my tape? Did you steal my tape?"
"Don’t make false accusations," Martin replied nonchalantly, "The tape was used to secure a splint for your son. You should ask Elena for it."
At the mention of his daughter’s name, Scott sank back into his chair, avoiding any further mention of Elena, "Tell Harris that the tape is worth twenty dollars. He must bring the money by tomorrow."
Martin avoided the confrontation and asked, "Do you have any cheap phones?"
Yesterday, he had used a phone borrowed from Lily’s friend, Mrs. Wood.
"Pauper, do you have money for a phone?" Scott mused, "Is Jack back? Tell me where he is!"
When a normal person’s spouse is abducted, it’s usually a matter of life and death, but Scott’s thinking was unconventional: "Let me calculate how many days this bastard has had Emma. God knows how many times they’ve fornicated. I’ll charge daily—at least a hundred… no, two hundred dollars a day!"
Communicating with someone out of touch was too arduous; Martin was prepared to leave.
Scott, however, pulled out a phone from under the counter, "European model, exceptionally durable. Even if you die, it will still work."
Martin took the phone, a gray, brick-like model he had used in a past life—the Nokia 3210.
Noticing something amiss, he turned it over and discovered the back cover was cracked and glued together, with a hole in the middle of the fissure.
Scott took a swig of his drink, "This is a lucky phone. I don’t usually show it to just anyone. During a shootout with the Eagles gang, a delivery boy took a ricochet, and the phone shielded him. However, the battery was ruined, so I replaced it myself."
Martin powered it on, confirming it worked, and asked, "How much?"
Scott waved dismissively, "Just take it."
If it had been Harris or Elena’s, Martin would have taken it immediately. But this was Scott, a notorious drunkard and drug dealer who had refused to spend money on his children since Elena turned sixteen.
Something free is often the most costly. Martin pulled out twenty dollars from his pocket, placed it on the counter, and left with the phone.
Scott was bewildered, "When did this fool get smart?"
Martin arranged for a network connection, bought several newspapers, especially those focusing on social economics and entertainment, and returned to his rented house to scrutinize them.
Understanding the social landscape was crucial.
Since the 1996 Olympics, Atlanta’s development had accelerated, with the black population, constituting forty percent of the total, experiencing significant improvements in economic, political, and social status.
In tandem, black gangs, once primarily active in the southern suburbs, had begun encroaching into the city’s upscale areas, resulting in frequent clashes with established white factions, leading to a surge in robberies and shootings.
Martin also found a recruitment ad for "The Beast House" in a local paper. The club, having recently opened, was looking for male strippers.
Should he check it out?
A chill ran down his spine as he heard a clatter from the back window.
The wind had picked up.
Martin went to close the window. The backyard was overgrown with weeds, and he suddenly remembered that a dead body lay buried there, a hole he and Elena had dug.
The gentle spring breeze had turned into a chilling draft.
Planning to host a party in the backyard in a few days, Martin decided to invite more people and arrange for some classic rock and disco music.
After a night of hard work, Martin took a nap at noon. In the afternoon, he wandered around the Clayton neighborhood, looking for quick money-making opportunities.
Indeed, there were plenty, with weeds and debris everywhere. Many, like Elena, worked as laborers with stable jobs being rare.
Martin’s previous self, Martin Davis, had never had a steady job and had lived off Elena’s support for a long time. He frequently visited the Marietta Community Theater, dreaming of becoming a star.
Martin decided to visit the theater.
After a day of rest, Martin’s health had mostly recovered. It was the weekend, a regular time for the theater’s activities. He took a ride on an old minibus to Margaret Square.
The memorial for Margaret Mitchell, author of Gone with the Wind, was located there.
Martin walked towards the memorial, glanced at the sign reading "When Hollywood Meets Marietta," and bypassed the memorial to visit a small theater at the back.
A van was parked in front of the theater. Jerome Mitchell, dressed in formal attire, was directing the unloading of goods. Seeing Martin, he barked orders, "Hurry up, come help!"
Jerome was the head of the Marietta Community Theater and was reportedly connected to the Mitchell family.
Martin limped over deliberately and carried a small box into the theater.
Jerome asked, "You’ve been missing for a week, causing delays in the theater’s work."
Martin limped past him, "I injured my leg and just got out of bed. I came as soon as I could."
Jerome’s sharp gaze scrutinized Martin as if he were a lazy employee caught slacking off.
The goods were moved into the warehouse, and about a dozen people gathered in the small theater, taking seats in the audience area.
There are over 7,000 community theaters in America, and Marietta is one of the less prominent ones.
The only notable aspect was that T-1000’s Robert Patrick had been a member in his youth.
Martin glanced around and noticed that ten of the faces were unfamiliar.
Robert, a heavyset man, approached and asked, "I heard you injured your leg?"
Martin nodded, "I’ve been resting for a week." He gestured towards the newcomers, "Many new faces?"
Robert, sounding resigned, said, "The theater is busy; we often have to work. We’re just temporary actors without income. With the membership fees due soon, some have left. We need to fill our stomachs before chasing our star dreams."
The choice between reality and dreams.
Jerome then walked to the center of the stage, clapped his hands to draw attention, and said, "I have some good news to share."
He didn’t keep them in suspense but continued, "Channel Two is collaborating with Gray Film Productions to shoot a plantation-themed play. Next week, they will be recruiting actors at the Midtown Arts Theater. I’ve contacted the casting director, and everyone will have a chance to appear."
The newcomers were excited.
Robert, however, remained calm, noting that the recruitment was only for temporary roles.
Jerome, with a hint of showmanship, added, "You all know I have some connections in Hollywood. I just received a major update—Jim Carrey and Kate Winslet will star in a multi-million dollar production to be filmed in Atlanta soon. To cut costs, they will be recruiting actors here. I believe Marietta Theater can produce another Robert Patrick."
Martin recalled if Jim Carrey and Kate Winslet had ever collaborated on a film.
With the enticing bait cast, Jerome began to reel them in: "Our theater is for all of us. We share the public facilities, and rehearsal costs and daily maintenance are our collective responsibility. Therefore, the theater will collect a monthly fee of 300 dollars. I trust everyone understands this."
It wasn’t free acting but pay-to-perform.
Having seen much, Martin wasn’t surprised.
During his time as a drifter, a local star had reportedly sold several properties to land a supporting role in a play.
Such pay-to-play scenarios weren’t unique; many wanted to pay but had no means to do so.
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