Earlier, during dinner, PoshMum rang, and I should not have taken the call, but…well, how could I not? The woman was calling all the way from the States, and she could save my career and the agency. Of course I was going to pick up the call.
Now, before I go on to the conversation she and I had, I need to have a little rant about Fife. He was right angry that I left the table and took the call. It ended up being a relatively short conversation, and I wasn’t way from the table for more than fifteen minutes. But Fife got really snitty and said that what I had done was totally rude. Right, it may have been rude if I’d taken a call from a mate or something and left him sitting there for hours, but this is a major motion picture producer who could pull my career out of the shitter. I wasn’t not going to take the call.
We finished dinner and drove home in silence, which was absolutely unbearable, so I finally said, ‘What’s your problem? I wasn’t even gone that long. And at least I didn’t take the call at the table.’
He launched into a tirade about how he didn’t think it was fare that my job came before everything, and there’s more to life than work. And sometimes the ones you love are more important than a ‘stupid phone call’.
His dismissal of…well, everything…,made me livid. I yelled back, ‘What are we going to do if I don’t have a job? Are we going to keep the flat? How am I going to pay my rent? I’ve got six months of a lease left. And you, are you going to move to Perthshire where you’re even farther away from the kids? Or are you finally going to fucking sign those damned divorce papers and let [Helen] buy you out of the house? So don’t have a go at me for putting work first. By putting work first I am thinking about the people I love.’
He said nothing all the way to the flat, and he stormed upstairs ahead of me. Once in the flat, he went into the bedroom, got the extra duvet, came back into the lounge and threw it on the sofa. ‘I’m sleeping in here tonight,’ he said.
I seriously don’t know what his problem is. Did he give Helen this much grief for working hard? Perhaps he did, and that’s why his marriage went down the drain. I mean, he can’t have it both ways. Either he dates/lives with a woman who works significantly more than him and gets over it, or he gets a full time job himself, or he just shuts the fuck up.
So, he’s in the lounge watching telly, and I’m in the bedroom, and right now I’m happy with this arrangement. I don’t want to see his stupid face.
Oh yeah, onto happier things. Here’s the gist of my conversation with PoshMum. She read the book. In fact, she thought she’d just skim it, and if it was interesting maybe take the next week or so reading it. However, from page one she couldn’t put it down, and she stayed up through the night to finish it. She’s sold on the idea of turning it into a film, and she wants to negotiate.
Here’s the problem. She won’t negotiate over the phone. She does all this sort of stuff live, plus she likes to have her commissioning editor (or whatever it’s called in film) with her. She’s in Mississippi just now ‘keeping an eye on a little project’ they’re doing, then she’ll be in New York, then LA, then back to New York. She did say, however, she’ll be in Edinburgh for the Film Festival in August.
August was too far away. Anything could happen between now and August. What if she cooled on the idea? What if Loraine lost everything and I was working as a barista (can you still negotiate a film deal if you’re working at Costa)? What if, what if, what if?
I asked if there was anyway we could meet sooner than August, and she said, ‘You’re welcome to meet me on location just now. [Name of commissioning agent] will be here later in the week. Can you make it out to Biloxi this week?’
Crap. Traveling all the way to the States this week did not sound practical. I asked if I could meet her in New York or LA when she’s there – just to give me a little time to get a plane ticket, and get it all organised. She said that the person she works with on film rights won’t be in LA or New York when she’s there, but since they are both in Mississippi this week, it would be best for me to come now. Or wait until August.
Right. I have to try and get to Biloxi this week. But how the hell am I going to do that?
I told her that I’d need to talk to the Agency, could I send her an email tomorrow with a response? She said that was fine and her PA would send me all the details of where to reach her and the dates and times she’s available.
I’ve looked on a map and Biloxi isn’t too far from New Orleans, so I could crash there. It REALLY sucks that Rich is back in the UK at the moment, or he could totally sort me – well, except for the plane tickets. So I rang R, who rang his girlfriend, who has agreed – if I can some how scrape together money for a plane ticket – to collect me from the airport in New Orleans and let me crash with her in BR. Then R’s amazingly wonderful girlfriend also agreed to take me toBiloxi to meet PoshMum.
As you’ll know, I don’t drive, and according to R, that part of the US is not non-driver friendly. He said that even if I flew into an airport near Biloxi, there’s no way I could get around without a car. God, I need to learn to drive.
You know, I haven’t even had a chance to talk to Fife about this. He was being such a bear about me leaving the table, I didn’t bother. I kind of want to talk things through with him right now, but if he’s in a bad mood there’s no point, because we’ll just get into another fight.
Right, I need to go. I need to price out some very expensive plane tickets and contact all my New Orleans friends to let them know I might be there!