‘What if she doesn’t die?’ said George, getting to his feet and starting to walk around. ‘She dies, right, in the book?’
‘The play,’ said Imogen.
‘But that’s the whole point,’ I said.
‘Yeah, but if it’s a romcom?’
‘It’s not a romcom, it’s a tragedy,’ I said, then immediately regretted my presumptuousness.
The phone vibrated again. Chloe.
‘She shoots herself,’ said Imogen.
‘Shoots herself? Shoots herself?’ said George. ‘Who does that?’
‘But you can’t say “Who does that?” about someone shooting themselves,’ Imogen was saying.
‘That’s exactly what they say! In the original play!’ I said, trying to overcome feelings of annoyance with Cosmata’s mother. ‘“Good God! People don’t do things like that!”’
There was a silence. I knew I’d said completely the wrong thing.
Imogen was looking daggers at me. I had to stop looking at the texts and CONCENTRATE. I was clearly in the middle of some incredibly complex power struggle, which I didn’t fully understand, and one or other of the children would have to remain abandoned and Roxster’s food obsession unsatisfied. Imogen had supported me over the fact that you couldn’t question whether people shot themselves or not – because clearly they do sometimes and not just in plays – but then I, instead of supporting her in her support, had supported George by saying that his views were supported by the opinions of . . .
‘I mean, I agree with you, Imogen,’ I said. ‘People shoot themselves all the time. Not actually all the time, but they do shoot themselves sometimes. Look at, look at, um.’ I looked wildly around for inspiration, wishing I could google ‘Modern Celebrities Who Have Shot Themselves’. Instead I quickly texted Chloe:
‘Right,’ said George, sitting down again, in an important, businesslike way. ‘So. We’ll give you a couple of days. No Kate Hudson shooting herself. It’s a comedy. It’s the comedy we like.’
I stared at George aghast. The Leaves in His Hair is not a comedy. It is a tragedy. Had the tragedy in my writing somehow inadvertently come out as comic? The fact that Hedda Gabbler shoots herself is fundamental. But, as Brian said, in the movie business, artistic integrity has to go together with pragmatism and . . . There was another text from Roxster!
Actually, that wasn’t a bad idea. Suddenly the previously mentioned Pink Panther concept combined with Roxster’s ‘Nits’ suggestion triggered a brilliant notion in my mind.
‘What about Tom and Jerry?’ I burst out. George, who had now opened the door to leave, stopped in his tracks and looked back.
‘I mean, Tom and Jerry is a comedy, but terrible things happen to both Tom and Jerry. I mean, more Tom – he gets flattened, he gets electrocuted, yet somehow . . .’
‘He always comes back to life!’ said Imogen, smiling at me.
‘You mean she’s resuscitated?’ said George.
‘Like Fool’s Gold meets ER meets The Passion of the Christ!’ enthused Damian, adding hurriedly, ‘but without the Jewish controversy.’
‘Try it, send us the rewrite by Thursday and see how it comes off the page,’ said George in his deep voice. ‘Right, I’ve gotta go. I’ve got a conference call.’
The phone vibrated. Roxster:
Once euphoric farewells were made – ‘You did really well in there! I love your dress’ – and hugs exchanged, whilst I tried to keep my head oddly at an angle because of the nits (I mean, what if they got in Damian’s lopsided haircut?), I sat down in reception and looked at my latest texts.
Chloe:
Roxster:
Instead of processing the whole meeting, calling Brian to get him to get them to give me more time, then rushing home to see how Billy is, and having a serious think about telling Chloe she has to make decisions herself if I am in important meetings, I replied to Roxster with a complete list of every item of food in the meeting, adding:
NITS IN THE WORKS
Tuesday 23 April 2013
Minutes spent writing script 0, minutes spent dealing with people’s nits instead of getting on with work 507, people whom family might have infested with nits (including Tom, Jude, all Jude’s recent dates, Talitha, Roxster, Arkis, Sergei, Grazina the Cleaner, Chloe, Brian the Agent – but only if nits can get down phone – and entire Greenlight Productions team) 23 (not counting people above people might have infested with nits).
9.30 a.m. Right. This is my first official rewriting day on The Leaves in His Hair. Feel marvellous and proud! Almost like it was just a sort of hobby before but now it is real.
10.05 a.m. Grrr. This is really quite difficult, though. Don’t want to be a Prima Donna, but setting Hedda Gabbler on a yacht in Hawaii is somehow changing the mood and meaning of the whole piece. It brings up all sorts of difficulties, which weren’t there with the terrace house in Queen’s Park. Ooh, goody. Text!
10.45 a.m. Was Tom.
Freaked out, I texted back:
Tom again.
Paroxysms of guilt. Tom sleeping with Arkis is the product of months of discussion and strategizing and I have potentially ruined it!
11 a.m. Just texted Tom list of nit products, combs, etc., offered to nit-comb him if he wanted to come round.
11.15 a.m. Jude just rang, talking in a wobbly, sepulchral voice.
‘Vile Richard has blocked Isabella.’
‘Who’s Isabella?’
‘The made-up girl on PlentyofFish.com, remember? She stood him up on Saturday and now . . .’
Jude was really upset.
‘What?’
‘Vile Richard replaced his profile with a message saying he’s no longer available because he’s met someone else. I just feel really, really hurt, Bridget. How could he meet someone else so quickly?’
Tried to explain to Jude that Isabella wasn’t real, and Vile Richard clearly hadn’t met someone else, he was just trying to get back at Isabella for standing him up, even though Isabella didn’t exist, at which Jude seemed to brighten and said: ‘The guy I met on Saturday was nice, though, you know the one from the dance-lover site. Though he hates dancing. He says they must have passed his profile on from a snowboarding site.’
At least she didn’t mention anything about nits.
Noon. Right. Now Jude is all calm and happy again, will get on with The Leaves in His Hair.
The trouble is, people don’t LIVE on yachts, do they? Or maybe they do? Like people who live on barges on the canal. But don’t yacht-type people live in big houses and just go on holiday on the yachts? And, more to the point, honeymoons.
12.15 p.m. Texted Talitha.
Talitha texted back.
12.30 p.m. Another text from Talitha.
Oh God. Talitha’s hair extensions! Can you nit-comb hair extensions?
Just had another text from Jude.
4.15 p.m. Shit! Shit! There is bang,
clatter and voices of everyone coming home.
5 p.m. Mabel burst in, holding out a letter. She sat down on the sofa and sobbed, big tears dribbling down her cheeks.
To all Infants Branch Parents
A child in Briar Rose . . .
Why do all the class names in Infants sound like the sort of Cotswold holiday cottages I keep googling instead of writing The Leaves in His Hair?
. . . has been found to be infested with head lice. Please obtain
suitable nit comb and products and check your children carefully before bringing them to school.
‘Ith me,’ sobbed Mabel. ‘I’s infestered Briar Rose with headlies. I’m “a child in Briar Rose”.’
‘It isn’t you,’ I said, hugging her and probably reinfestering her, or vice versa, with headlies. ‘Cosmata has head lice. And we didn’t find any on you. Maybe they just put “a child” when they meant lots of people.’
Wednesday 24 April 2013
175 lb (feels like again), pieces of Nicorette chewed 29 (NB of smoking substitute, not Class Mother), Diet Cokes 4, Red Bulls 5 (terrible, am practically on ceiling), packets of grated cheese 2, slices of rye bread 8, calories 4897, sleep 0, pages written 12. Humph.
12.30 p.m. Right. There is absolutely no need to panic. If a story is sound, and has themes relevant to modern life, then the actual setting ought to be immaterial.
1 p.m. Whole thing about Hedda and the boring husband going on a honeymoon not on a yacht and then coming back and living on a yacht seems completely nonsensical.
1.15 p.m. Wish head would stop itching.
1.20 p.m. Maybe they could have been on a road trip in the American West? Yes, surely as a car would be a nice change from a yacht?
4.30 p.m. Think will call Brian the Agent and talk it through with him. I mean, that’s what you do with agents, right?
5 p.m. Explained the whole thing to Brian the Agent, while maniacally scratching head.
‘So here’s the thing,’ said Brian. ‘Apparently, Greenlight hired a yacht in Hawaii for the Puff the Magic Dragon stoner movie, and now the stoner movie has fallen over, so they need another vehicle for a Hawaiian yacht.’
‘Oh,’ I said, crestfallen. I mean, I thought the reason Greenlight so loved The Leaves in His Hair was . . .
‘So what do we do?’ Brian said cheerfully. ‘We make Hedda Gabbler work on a Hawaiian yacht, right?’
‘Right,’ I said, nodding emphatically, even though Brian could not see emphatic nodding, infestering surrounding area with nits, as was on phone. Which was fortunate as otherwise would have also infestered Brian Katzenberg.
Thursday 25 April 2013
5 a.m. In bed writing crazily. Surrounded by revolting mess of Nicorette packets, coffee cups, pages of script all over floor, Diet Coke, Red Bull cans, etc., etc. Feel completely disgusting. Stomach is just huge bulge of grated cheese, rye bread, Diet Coke and Red Bull, and head is constantly itching. And still have not finished any coherent pages and is all spelt wrong and spacing mad, etc, etc. Also cannot even text Roxster to cheer self up because he is asleep.
10 a.m. Somehow spurred on by adrenalin rush of deadline, finished ‘pages’ and have emailed them off, even throwing in an extra, admittedly idiotic, scene I did in about twenty minutes flat, of Hedda throwing herself off the boat at the end, then Lovegood her alcoholic ex-lover doing the same and them both appearing putting on scuba gear at the bottom of the ocean like in For Your Eyes Only. But still, will give pleasing sense of more pages having been written.
Now am going back to sleep.
NIT-INFESTERED POWER MEETING
Friday 26 April 2013
12.30 p.m. Greenlight boardroom. Oh God. There was a tense atmosphere when I walked in. They were all talking amongst themselves and suddenly stopped.
‘Bridget, hello! Come and sit down!’ said Imogen. ‘Thank you for the pages. There are some lovely things in there.’ (Have subsequently come to realize that ‘There are some lovely things in there’ means ‘It’s crap’.)
There was a flat, tired air of weariness, quite different from the excitement of last week. Felt overwhelming urge to scratch my head.
‘How is the road trip a good idea when these are people who like yachts?’ George bulldozed in.
‘That’s exactly what I thought!’ I said, quickly giving my head a scratch as if to illustrate the dilemma, but actually to squash the worst bit of itching. ‘If Hedda’s going to come back and be disappointed by her new yacht, how can she already have been on a honeymoon on it?’
‘Yes, but they don’t have to go on a road trip, they could go to . . . to . . .’
My phone vibrated. Talitha.
‘Vegas!’ said Damian eagerly.
‘Not Vegas,’ said George disparagingly. ‘People get married in Vegas, they don’t have their honeymoons in Vegas.’
‘What about Costa Rica?’ said Damian.
The phone vibrated again.
Was Tom.
‘Or the Mayan Riviera?’ said Imogen.
‘Not Mexico. Kidnappings,’ said George.
‘But does it matter?’ I ventured, trying not even to start with the chilling implications of Tom’s text. ‘Because we’re not going to actually see them on the honeymoon, only when they get back.’
Everyone stared at me, as if this was a totally brilliant, original thought.
‘She’s right,’ said George. ‘We don’t need to see the honeymoon.’
Suddenly had sinking sense that George was not actually interested in the quality of my writing so much as the filming locations. Felt should quickly text Tom back reassuringly about the crabs/nit distinction, though did not have a definitive answer. Simultaneously sensed I must seize my advantage, and take control of the meeting.
‘Look,’ I said, in what I could already tell was going to be an annoying, schoolmarmy voice, scratching my head, and having a lurching fear that the reason Roxster hadn’t texted was that he too now had nits or maybe even—
‘I think the yacht is a great idea,’ I fraudulently enthused, ‘but it does throw up some issues with the adaptation. It’s important that we remember that The Nits in His Hair is making an—’
‘The Nits in His Hair?’ said Imogen, suddenly reaching her hand to her head.
‘I mean The Leaves in His Hair,’ I said hurriedly. Damian was scratching his head now and George, who is bald, was looking at us as if we were completely mad. The phone vibrated. Roxster! No, it was Tom again.
‘The important thing,’ I ploughed on, ‘is it’s important that we don’t lose the important . . . Look,’ I said grandly, opening my laptop, ‘I’ve made some notes about the important themes.’
Everyone gathered round to look at my screen, though keeping a distance from my head. Just as I was adding, to fill the embarrassing silence while I got the laptop to start up, ‘You see, this is, essentially, I believe, a feminist piece,’ the screen popped with the pink and lilac home page of Princess Bride Dress Up.
Gaah! How had Mabel got on my laptop?
Started fiddling around trying to find notes, then George said impatiently, ‘Look, while you’re looking for this stuff, why don’t we go off and read the pages and we can order in some lunch?’
‘Read the pages?’ I said, mind reeling. ‘But haven’t you already read the pages?’
I mean, we’d just been discussing the pages. WHAT was the point of me staying up all night drinking Red Bull and chewing Nicorette, if they haven’t even read the pages and—
‘We’ll see you after lunch,’ said George, and now they have all left the boardroom.
1.05 p.m. Humph. Anyway. At least I can freely scratch my head now, and google crabs and head lice and try and make some emotional peace with the fact that insect life has terminal
ly put Roxster off me.
1.15 p.m. Just typed in ‘Are nits crabs?’ on Ask.com and was reading –
Head lice and ‘crabs’, also called pubic lice, are different things.
Head lice (usually found on the head) have longer and thinner body compared to pubic lice which have bigger and more robust bodies.
Head lice live on the head only and cannot live in the pubic region.
Crab lice live in the pubic region.
There is also a third kind of lice that lives in other hairy regions of the . . .
– when George’s assistant appeared behind me with a lunch menu before I had time to switch the screen back to Princess Bride Dress Up.
Snapped the laptop shut, ordered a Thai chicken salad and, once she’d gone – presumably to tell the entire company that I had pubic lice – emailed the crabs/lice link to Tom.
1.30 p.m. No one has come back. Starting to panic now as I am doing school pickup today. I mean, surely it was reasonable to think a meeting about ten pages would not take quite as long. Ooh, text. Roxster?
Was Tom.
Gaah! George and Damian and Imogen are all coming back.
2.45 p.m. Meeting is over and have seconds to spare to get to Infants Branch by 3.15. Cheeringly, meeting was slightly more positive after they’d read the pages, and eaten some food (you see, is exactly the same with Billy and Mabel!), except they want me to rewrite everything I’ve already rewritten because the humour is ‘not coming off the page’, and the only bit George actually wants to leave as it is is the ludicrous, For Your Eyes Only scuba-diving ending.
Of course, when they returned after lunch, I still did not have feminist notes up on screen. Instead when they gathered round they were greeted with:
Head lice and ‘crabs’, also called pubic lice, are different things . . .
Think managed to click it off before they actually read it, though they may have seen the pictures of the two kinds of lice.
Ensuing discussion was punctuated by texts from Talitha who had, of course, immediately found a Celebrity Nit Nurse in Notting Hill and was texting me a running commentary.
Mad About the Boy Page 18