Fife sucks. He drank us all under the table, you couldn’t even tell he was drunk (if he was drunk) and he still got up for his morning run. How does he do it? He’s old and I’m young. I’m supposed to be the one full of energy and life. Not him. I hardly drank a think and I feel as sick as a dog. I’ve already knelt to the porcelain god twice this morning.
I spent the entire evening keeping an eye out for Pete and Sarah. A couple of people at the party asked me about Pete, thinking he and I were still together. I politely said we’d split-up, as I figured baby-mamma’s arrival would answer the rest of that scenario. It got later and later, and they never came.
Late into the evening, someone asked CoolTrous about Pete, and he said they came into town on Thursday and were staying with him. They were supposed to stay through today (Saturday) and come to the party, but Sarah wasn’t feeling too well so they decided to stay in for the night. Wow, I didn’t even think to ask Sarah why she was in Dundee on Thursday. I guess it was to see me. And it tuckered her out. That gesture kind of moves her back up the friendship table…a little.
As soon as I started hearing people up and down the stairs, we went over to Posh’s. CoolTrous was there, and early in the evening the flat was already jumping. She’s cleared out what little stuff she had and the flat was completely bare. Even the drinks and glasses were sitting on the floor.
Posh saw me and the first thing she said was, ‘How is she?’
As usual, I had no idea what she was on about.
‘Dearest mater. How is she?’ she repeated.
‘Oh yeah. She was fine. And I meant to say, thanks so much for the introduction. Everything is going so fast, I haven’t had a chance to come by and say thanks,’ I said.
‘I’m used to your selfishness,’ she said. Other people would have meant that as a joke, but even as we spend our last hours as neighbours, Posh still holds a grudge. Cow.
‘So, yeah. Your mum is thinking about buying the rights to another book of ours now,’ I said.
I explained the situation, but before I could finish, Posh said, ‘She’s like that. She rarely finishes one thing before something else catches her eye.’ Then she says under her breath, ‘And the woman says I never finish anything I start.’
I was getting a little worried, ‘What do you mean she doesn’t finish anything?’
‘Mother is an idea person. She gets these notions and unless someone else makes them come to fruition she forgets about it and moves on. If it wasn’t for the people who surround her, none of her films would get made. That’s why she and Daddy work so well together. He can’t stand to leave things undone. He jokes that mother couldn’t see their marriage through to the end, so he had to finish it with divorce papers.’ Then she laughed.
I wasn’t sure if I should join in her laughter, although I could feel a nervous laughter coming on myself. What if she got board with Conspiracy’s blog/book and just dropped it? I was fool enough building publishing deals on non-existent film deals, but I at least thought she’d give the book consideration before forgetting about it. What if by the time we sell it, and I call her to tell her it’s being published, she’s bored and uninterested? Shit, what have I done?
I was running over all this in my mind. Posh had wandered off and Fife was talking to some guy about the situation in Greece when there was a tap on my shoulder. It was HP, and I was (despite my earlier reservations) so happy to see him. I couldn’t stop my mind reeling about the possibility of PoshMum dropping the whole thing, and I needed someone to hash it all out with.
I grabbed us both a beer and pulled him out Posh’s flat and into my own apartment. The look on my face indicated that someone had died or was pregnant, he was very surprised when I told him what my real worries were.
HP thought I was being ridiculous. The film deal may not go through even if PoshMum isn’t a flake, and he said that I’m doing the best I can all the same. I
wasn’t am not convinced. I started to talk about the house of cards I’d built, and how it was all about to fall down. I had PoshDad annoyed at me, and he’d probably never agree to direct, a flaky PoshMum, and when the publishers in the auction find out I was bluffing they’ll all pull out. And not only will the Agency have to close, but as I made a total cluster fuck of the whole thing, my name will be mud.
I kind of started to hyperventilate. Well not really, but my breathing got a bit rapid. HP reached over, cupped my face with his hands, tilted my head up, looked me in the eyes and said, ‘Stop freaking out. It will work out.’
Then he leaned in close to me, I closed my eyes and breathed in his soapy skin.
He kissed me on the head then said, ‘And if it all goes tits up your writer boyfriend can support you.’
I slapped him on the arm, and he said, ‘Now, let’s get back to the party.’
In Posh’s flat, I introduced him to CoolTrous and a few other randoms I knew. Posh them came around, gave HP a massive hug pushing her tiny non-existent breasts AND her crotch against him, before pulling away and saying, ‘So happy you could come.’ Then she called him by the wrong name. Not a slight variation on two names that sound similar, but I mean completely the wrong name.
HP then said, ‘I’ve been talking to [NFTI] about this deal she’s doing with your mum. Do you think it’s likely to go through? It would be pretty exciting if it did.’
Posh flipped her hand in the air nonchalantly and said, ‘Oh I doubt it. I guess maybe. But it’s not likely. It depends on whether or not she gets distracted by something else. Which reminds me, I need to ring her about getting me office space.’ And Posh flitted off.
If I find out that this film rights deal doesn’t go through because Posh distracted her mother (after initially telling me to contact her, if I knew it was going to go down the shitter, I would have never started this whole mess), I will hunt down that skinny little no-trousered fool and wring her scrawny neck.
Shit. I’d better stop blogging. Fife should be back by now, and I think I have to heave again. I’ll fill you in on all of the fun of the party later in the day when I get a chance.