'Are you having your vocal chords removed?' I reply, holding the phone away from my head.
'What? No! What are you talking about?'
'Never mind, what great news have you got Craig?'
'I've got you invites to the premiere of Lost Lives And Broken Hearts!'
This means nothing to me. 'Is that a movie?'
'Well of course it's a movie! A big one too. They say it could go all the way to the Oscars! There will be loads of celebrities there. You'll love it.'
'And you've got us tickets to the premiere?'
'Yeah!'
'Why?'
'What the hell do you mean, why?'
'Well, precisely that Craig. Why?'
'Because it'll be great for your public profile!'
'I'm quite happy with my public profile thanks. It's nice and low.'
'Oh, come on Jamie. This is the kind of thing that can really help your career. It'll be a great night out as well.'
My idea of a great night out and Craig's are obviously vastly different. For me, I like nothing better than a meal in a nice restaurant with Laura, followed by some sex. I am a man of simple pleasures. Attending a film premiere with a bunch of famous types for me to feel awkward around sounds awful.
'Is that Craig?' Laura says, coming into the front room.
'Yep.'
'What's he want?'
'He says he's got us tickets to the premiere of some movie called Lost Lives And Broken Hearts.'
Laura becomes ninety percent eyeballs. 'What?!'
'You've heard of it?'
'Heard of it!? Jamie, they're saying it's the next English Patient! Or the next King's Speech!'
'Really? Can it be the next Bourne Identity instead?'
She rolls her eyes. 'Oh Jamie, you're such a philistine. Give me the phone.' It gets snatched out of my hand. 'Craig? It's Laura. Are you serious about this?'
Craig is indeed serious about this. He scored a load of tickets to the premiere from the agent down the corridor who represents the author of the book the movie is based on. I guess I should feel honoured that Craig wants to bring us along, but then I remember we're his best selling clients at the moment, so I guess it makes sense for him to keep us sweet.
Frankly, he could have kept me sweet by buying me a new game for the PS4 and letting me stay at home to play it, but that isn't the way things work in the glamorous world of show business. It's a little hard to schmooze someone when they're sat in lounge pants, playing Call Of Duty.
Laura continues talking to Craig in a highly animated fashion while I pick up the iPad and do a little Googling.
Okay, so the cast of this flick looks quite impressive. Ralph Fiennes is in it, of course. You can't have a potential Oscar winning film made in the UK without Ralph Fiennes in it. I think if they ever make a movie version of Love From Both Sides I'll kidnap him, concuss him with a dildo truncheon, and stick him in the back of every shot.
Oh look, Keira Knightley's in the movie as well. What a huge surprise. I wonder if she's playing an English rose, who learns a valuable lesson about love while in the aftermath of personal tragedy?
Those are the two main stars, but any British Oscar contender worth its salt must feature a couple of people who have been given a title by the Queen. And indeed, Dame Maggie Smith and Sir Ian McKellan are playing Keira's grandparents. There's nary a mention of Keira's mother and father in the IMDB credits list though, so I think we can safely assume that this is the personal tragedy I was referring to earlier.
The rest of the cast is the usual collection of British thespians. You always recognise a few from the TV shows they're more famous for being in, and there's always one cast member who you thought was dead, but inexplicably isn't. In Lost Lives And Broken Hearts, it's Ian Lavender from Dad's Army. I was convinced Private Pike had popped his clogs, but I think that's just because every other member of the cast has gone to meet their maker, and I was killing him off by association.
The plot of the movie sounds dreadful.
Not in a badly written way, just in a 'this is pretentious rubbish and I'd rather be watching something with Bruce Willis in it' kind of way. It's set in the sixties, a time period that popular culture still has a strange fascination with. Keira plays a sexually repressed young woman, who finds love with travelling musician Ralph Fiennes. She then discovers Ralphy boy is not everything he's cracked up to be, what with his burgeoning drug habit and casual approach to female equality. What follows is a domestic drama of such po-faced sincerity it's enough to make you chew your own foot off. According to IMDB, Lost Lives & Broken Hearts is based on the book of the same name by a rather odd looking small man of Sri Lankan descent called Sanjapat Hathiristipan - or 'Sanja' to his mates.
Sanja is seventy years old, and a product of the upper class boarding school system, thanks to how fabulously wealthy his parents were when they emigrated to the UK in the fifties. The old boy has written two books - this one, and a non-fiction piece about the Sri Lankan civil war. He must have been delighted when Warner Bros picked his drama to be their Oscar contender for the year. I know I would have been.
I wouldn't usually be caught within a hundred miles of this kind of film, but judging from the excitement in Laura's voice as she speaks to Craig, that perfectly reasonable stance is about to change.
'Okay Craig! We'll see you on Thursday!' Laura ends the call with our agent and gives me an animated grin. 'Isn't that great Jamie? I might get to meet Ralph Fiennes!'
'Yes.'
'And Keira Knightley!'
'Yes.
'And the one who's not dead from Dad's Army!'
'Yes.'
She folds her arms. 'You seem less than enthused.'
'Yes.'
'Oh, what's your problem? Not many people get to go to these things, you should be pleased.'
I too fold my arms, so we're both taking up defensive positions. 'Right Laura, let's just analyse this for a moment, shall we?'
She sits down in the armchair and regards me carefully. 'Okay.'
'This is going to be a star studded event, no doubt followed by the national media, correct?'
'Yes, I suppose so.'
'And we are the Newmans.'
'What do you mean by that?'
I hold one hand open and start ticking things off on my fingers. 'Vomiting at a job interview, ordering nasal discharge in a coffee shop, stealing a Chinese baby, the beach whore swimsuit, the breakdown at work - '
Laura holds up her hand. 'Whoa, boy. What's the point in all this?'
I grimace. 'We are awful in public, Laura. If there's an opportunity for one or both of us to make fucking idiots of ourselves in front of complete strangers, then we'll grasp it with both hands and damn the consequences. We are the 21st century equivalent of Laurel and Hardy. I've lost count of the amount of times I've had to apologise to someone I've never met before.' I look at the ceiling. 'It's like we're cursed. Someone up there really hates us, and likes to make us suffer as much as possible for their own sick entertainment.'
'You're being melodramatic.'
I start counting off on my fingers again. 'Covering a woman in dog piss, death by pedalo, mucus explosion during a speech - '
'Yes yes yes! Alright, you've made your point.'
'Can you imagine what minor hell awaits us if we go to this premiere? What ample opportunities exist for us to look like utter bell ends? Not just in front of complete strangers this time, but celebrities and the bloody paparazzi?'
'No-one's going to be paying you and me any attention,' Laura counters. 'We're nobodies.'
I lean forward. 'Well, we won't be nobodies when I sexually assault Keira Knightley by accident, or you end up elbowing Sir Ian McKellan in the face, will we?'
Laura opens her mouth to argue, but I can see the cogs whirring in her head as she comes to the sad but inevitable conclusion that we are a couple of prat-falling lunatics once we step out of the front door, and that attending this event may end in disgrace, injury, and
possible criminal charges.
'See what I mean?' I tell her. 'It's far better that we just decline the offer and watch the bloody thing on Sky News.'
The edges of Laura's mouth sag. Then they go straight again as determination replaces disappointment. 'I want to go anyway,' she says.
'What?'
'I want to go anyway, Jamie. We can act like normal human beings. We don't have to end up with egg on our faces wherever we go.'
'Yes we do. It's our thing.'
'No!' She stamps her foot. 'I want to go! I want to meet Ralph Fiennes in a brand new evening gown!'
'Why would he be wearing an evening gown? He's not Eddie Izzard.'
'Me, you idiot! I'm wearing the evening gown!'
'Oh, I see.'
The look of determined resolve hardens. 'We're going, Jamie. We're going, and we're going to have a lovely time, with no problems, issues or cock-ups.'
I let out a loud bray of cynical laughter. My wife has taken leave of her senses.
However, she also has a look on her face that tells me that if I don't go along with her on this one, I will not be receiving any blow jobs for the foreseeable future. I will also never hear my one word birthday present again. I do hate being such a two dimensional man, but I sadly have no choice in the matter. Even at the risk of making a fool of myself on the national news, I will do anything if it means I can still have a pair of woman's lips wrapped around my penis at some time in the near future.
Laura smiles. She knows exactly what I'm thinking. Damn her for knowing me so well - and for looking so fantastic in black lingerie.
I suck air in through my teeth. 'I'll have to get a bloody tuxedo,' I say unhappily.
Laura comes over and puts a hand on my thigh. 'And you'll look very sexy in it, baby.' The voice is husky. I feel as if I'm a dog that's about to get a treat for being a good boy.
I'm not complaining.
In the end, I rent a tuxedo from a local place in town. There are only ever going to be a few occasions in life when I'm called upon to wear such a silly outfit, so I really don't see the point in buying one.
Having said that, they do make you look good. Even I had to admire the dashing image I cut, standing in front of the rental shop's mirror, looking like a low rent James Bond.
Of course, there's no renting going on when it comes to Laura's dress. That just wouldn't do at all. If a woman is called upon to attend a swanky event, she must wear a brand new outfit that has never seen the light of day. One costing a truckload of cash. This is just one of those universal truisms, so it's best we don't dwell on it too much and get on with our lives.
Given that there are only two days between invite and premiere, Laura has to make her mind up about which dress she wants far quicker than she would have liked. I'm not going to go into details about the hunt for the dress right now. Suffice to say that I've seen the inside of one too many designer clothes shops over the past forty eight hours.
Laura eventually settles on a flowing grey number, replete with a splash of sequins. This was after rejecting a smart black off the shoulder job that was too tight around the boobs, and a long, silky, white strappy dress that she thought made her calves look fat. The grey dress suits her figure down to the ground - and now I'm going to stop talking about ladies dresses before you mistake me for Gok Wan.
There was a brief shining moment I thought we might get out of our public appearance, when we struggled to get a babysitter for Poppy. We usually rely on a sweet, good natured girl called Amber who lives down the road from us, but she was busy the night of the premiere. Luckily - for Laura, not me - Terry steps up to the plate once again, and agrees to take our daughter for the night.
I am rather worried that Terry is becoming very useful - and indeed, indispensable. I'm still waiting for him to do something hideously wrong, but as yet, he's been everything he said he would be upon his return. This obviously pleases Laura no end, but she isn't blessed with my rampant cynicism, so I am still concerned that a moment will come when the house of cards will fall down, and the man that buggered off and left his child in the formative years of her life will return with a vengeance. For now though, I have to grudgingly accept that Terry is being every inch the apologetic father, and doting grandfather. Even if he did introduce Winklebastard into my life, and prevent me having a decent excuse not to trudge down a red carpet in a rented tuxedo, I have to give him some credit, don't I?
The gala premiere for Lost Lives And Broken Hearts is at the Odeon in Leicester Square - the site of many a movie's opening night over the years. Given the fact that we're in for an evening out in London, Laura and I have to spend yet another night this year at a hotel in the city. I'm starting to understand why the rich buy a second flat here. I know I would if I could, just to know for certain what kind of bed I'd be sleeping in.
This time around, we spring for a night in a decent boutique hotel in Kensington called The Radley Suites. This lies somewhere between the opulence of The Dorchester, and the down to Earth austerity of the Premier Inn. We don't feel completely out of our depth, but we also don't feel like we're slumming it.
I say 'don't feel like we're slumming it', but you probably know me well enough by now to know that I would have been quite happy with the cheapest option. My wife on the other hand, has different ideas. 'I'm not attending a star studded film event, and coming back to a ruddy Premier Inn, Jamie,' she told me. 'Book us somewhere a bit nicer, and a bit more appropriate.'
I think £59 for a night in London is perfectly appropriate, but then I have absolutely no taste, given that I am a man, and am therefore an idiot.
At least Craig and his agent friend have arranged the transport for the evening. A chauffeur driven limousine, no less.
It'll have to be a large one, as Craig has informed us that we will be travelling to the premiere with him and his girlfriend Maxine, Sanjapat Hathiristipan and his wife, and the old man's agent Caroline Denham, with her partner Alberto. Four couples in total - only two of which have any real business being at the event.
If there were a time to take on the legendary role of spare prick at a wedding, then this is truly it.
'We'll be fine, Jamie,' Laura again has to reassure me as we stand in the foyer of The Radley Suites, waiting for Craig and his entourage to arrive.
'How much do you want to bet me?'
Laura thinks about this for a moment. 'A month's loading the dishwasher?'
'You're on.' We shake hands, and I start to feel a bit better. I may be about to accidentally touch one of Keira Knightley's boobs while Sky News films it, but at least I won't have to scrape food into the bin and try to neatly stack plates in a dishwasher for the next few weeks.
The limousine arrives and Laura and I get in. The interior is just what you'd expect. Black leather seats, dark blue carpet, tinted windows. You know, the type of thing that twats like to ride around in.
'Evening Jamie and Laura!' Craig barks, holding out two champagne glasses. 'Have a drink!'
Oh fabulous, I'm going to be hammered by the time we hit the red carpet. Craig will have shoved half a bottle of fizzy plonk down my throat before we hit the congestion charge zone. But then I remember that Laura is here, and that her control over me is even greater than Craig's. She won't let me get drunk. We're on our best behaviour tonight, after all. I therefore take the champagne in the secure knowledge that it will be the only alcohol I have access to this evening.
Laura and I sit down in two of the plush seats that ring the limo's interior while Craig does the introductions. Caroline Denham is a tall, thin-lipped woman of indeterminate age. She might be thirty or fifty under all that make-up, I have no way of knowing. Alberto is a trophy husband of the highest order. He's Italian. He must be. He has thick, black, swept back hair and is wearing a lime green suit that he actually manages to pull off. Italians are the only people in the world who can get away with clothing of such a hideous colour. It's genetic.
Sanja is a small, prune like individual, wit
h dark brown wrinkled skin and bright, searching eyes. He is dressed in a sombre grey suit that is a little too large for him, and looks quite, quite furious about something. He's trying to hide his anger, but you can see it trying to bubble to the surface when he speaks. He's all eye twitching and lip curling. As someone who knows what it's like to suppress your frustration at the world on a horrifyingly regular basis, I know the signs of someone forming an ulcer in their stomach from a mile away.
'Good evening,' he says to us, his accent perfectly English, other than a hint of exotic Far Eastern spice attached at the ends. 'This is my wife, Sunil.' He indicates a rather worried looking Asian woman sat next to him in a sari. She knows her husband is mad about something, that's for sure.
'Hello to you both,' she says.
Last, Craig introduces Maxine, who I'm fairly sure is an escort girl. I don't mean that Craig has paid for an escort girl for the evening, I just mean that Craig likes to date escort girls. This is supreme evidence of Craig's enormous self confidence, and should be applauded by every straight man in England. Maxine looks like a walking blowjob in Manolo Blahniks. I make a point not to look directly at her. I know which side my bread is buttered, and Laura is holding the knife.
'Are you excited, Laura?' Craig asks, knowing full well that my wife is beside herself, and probably wearing one of the other dresses she rejected yesterday.
'Yes! I'm hoping to speak to Maggie Smith. I love her!' I have to grin at Laura's open fan girl enthusiasm. Even if I'm looking forward to this about as much as root canal surgery, she's excited enough for the both of us. She turns to Sanja. 'And it's an honour to meet you Mr Hathiristipan.' How the fuck did she manage that? 'I thought your book was just wonderful.'
This gets a warm smile from Sanja, which temporarily breaks through all of that suppressed anger. 'Thank you, my dear. I'm so glad you liked it.'
'I did! I'm hoping the film does it justice.'
Sanja's face darkens immediately.
Aha!
I think we've come to the root of the matter. Sanja isn't happy with the movie for some reason. It's written all over his face.
Love...Among The Stars: Book 4 in the Love...Series (Love Series) Page 20