Chapter 30: Playing the Age Card.
Besides filming and studying his role, Ryan now had to endure daily lessons with a tutor.
They were no longer on location, and his growing fame had put him squarely on the radar of the child welfare authorities. They sent someone to check on him almost every week, so the production had no choice but to follow the rules.
Luckily the tutor wasn't overly strict. She kept the required three hours of class each day, but once Ryan asked questions she simply taught like any normal school lesson while he quietly worked on whatever he wanted.
When is this going to end? Ryan sighed as he changed out of his costume and stared at himself in the mirror.
Over the past six months he had grown quite a bit. Sometimes at night he could swear he heard his bones creaking as they stretched.
Nutrition was no longer a problem after Nicole adopted him. Since last year his once-scrawny body had filled out noticeably—he was stronger and taller than most kids his age.
Even so, Ryan still complained that he wasn't growing fast enough. He wished he could wake up an adult tomorrow.
Leaving the soundstage, he saw no golf cart coming and simply headed for the main gate.
The rented Stage 19 wasn't far, but halfway there he realized he had finished early and forgotten to tell Pat.
He glanced back at the soundstage, decided it was the same distance either way, and kept walking. He really needed a cell phone or at least a proper assistant. Making Pat act as both agent and babysitter wasn't fair to her other clients—especially Nicole.
"Pat? It's Ryan. Yeah, we wrapped early and I forgot to call. I'll just grab a cab… okay, I'll wait for you at the gate."
After borrowing the studio phone, Ryan thanked the middle-aged security guard.
"Thanks, Wood."
"No problem." Wood looked a little embarrassed. "Ryan, can I ask… when is the third Harry Potter coming out? Don't get me wrong, it's not for reporters. My son and daughter love the books, and they know I work on the lot, so…"
"Sorry, Wood." Ryan gave a helpless smile. "Probably not this year."
"That's not the news they wanted to hear."
Wood chuckled.
Ever since the media learned he was starring in Home Alone, stories about him had filled the papers again. Sales of both Harry Potter books had jumped. The publisher at Asimov's kept calling, and plenty of parents were demanding the next installment.
Maybe in a while, Ryan thought as he stepped outside the gate.
He had barely taken two steps when camera flashes exploded around him and the clicking of shutters filled the air. Before he could turn, several microphones and mini-recorders were shoved in his face.
"Ryan, we heard you wrote the Home Alone screenplay yourself. Is it the same as the original story?"
Ryan almost asked the reporter if he was an idiot. Of course it wasn't the same—otherwise why bother adapting it?
"The Sixth Sense made two hundred and ninety million domestically. Do you think Home Alone can match that?"
"Disney scheduled the film for Thanksgiving to Christmas. Can you really make a great movie in such a short time?"
"You'll have to ask Touchstone about that, not me." Ryan tried to back toward the gate, but the pack wasn't letting him go.
"I'm from World News Weekly. Since becoming famous you've never gone back to Northstone Orphanage. Can we take that to mean you lack basic gratitude? Also, did Nicole Kidman only adopt you because your books were going to make huge money?"
Ryan wanted to spit in the man's face.
Typical sleazy tabloid trash—always looking for the worst angle. He ignored the question and turned to leave.
The reporters formed a loose circle, keeping just enough distance but clearly not planning to let him escape until he answered.
In his previous life Ryan had seen plenty of videos of young stars being cornered like this. They usually panicked and said something stupid that the press twisted into a scandal.
Ryan wasn't worried. He still had the age advantage. These guys could be aggressive, but they wouldn't dare cross the line with a minor—harassing a child was a serious crime in America.
"Ryan, are you refusing to answer because you feel guilty?" the tabloid hack kept pushing. "You wrote so many books in just four years. Did someone ghostwrite them for you?"
Ryan calmly pulled out a pair of earphones, slipped them on, and—right in front of the entire pack—took a small silver portable cassette player from his bag. Moving in slow motion, he turned it on, inserted the earbuds, and cranked the volume as high as it would go.
"I'm playing the kid card today!"
He muttered it loud enough for them to hear. Then, to their disbelief, he started singing at the top of his lungs—an upbeat, silly English children's song he belted out like a tone-deaf kid at a birthday party:
"Saturday night, don't walk alone,
Come to Apple Land, welcome all the lost children…"
The reporters stood there dumbfounded. They had interviewed plenty of child stars—even the famously clever Jodie Foster had never been this relaxed when facing the press. The kid was treating them like they didn't exist.
If he had been an adult they would have shoved microphones in his face and sprayed him with spit. But he was ten. In front of witnesses, doing that could cost them their jobs—or land them in jail for months.
The standoff lasted almost five minutes before Wood at the gate finally realized who was being swarmed. He shouted for a couple of colleagues, pushed through the crowd, and escorted Ryan back inside the studio. In the chaos, someone's hat flew off, another lost a shoe, and a third ended up with a bird's-nest hairstyle.
Wood's finest move was deliberately knocking several recorders and microphones to the ground. Ryan made sure to stomp on them as he ran past. This wasn't the later era of ubiquitous video cameras; in the confusion no one could prove who stepped on what.
"My recorder!" "My microphone!"
Furious shouts followed them into the studio, but the lot was closed to outsiders. The paparazzi couldn't follow.
"Thanks, everyone. Coffee's on me this afternoon!"
Ryan never acted like a diva and always chatted with the gate guards. That was why they helped him so willingly. If he had been someone like Tom Cruise, they would have stood by and watched him get mobbed—then sold the story the next day.
The coffee cost almost nothing. Ryan's previous-life manners were paying off again. People who acted too arrogant were never welcome anywhere.
When Ryan finally climbed into Pat's car, the furious paparazzi pressed their cameras against the tinted windows. They couldn't see a thing—the special film blocked everything.
"What happened to them? Are they not afraid I'll file for a restraining order?" Pat asked, puzzled.
"Nothing major—just a little property damage." Ryan gave her the short version. "I still have the age advantage. In a few years these guys will get even worse."
Pat laughed softly. She didn't fully approve of his tactics, but she had to admit he was using every advantage he had—and he knew exactly how to win people over. She really couldn't treat him like a normal child anymore.
"Don't worry, Pat. I know where the line is. These are all tabloid hacks. Even if I was nice to them, would they suddenly start writing good things about me?"
"Fair point, Ryan."
"Pat, I think I need a proper assistant. Someone who can also drive and act as security." Ryan's mind was already racing ahead as usual.
"I'll start looking."