My agent laughs wildly. Food sprawling out of his big mouth onto his turquoise tie. I sit opposite him, giggling at my own misfortune. The laughter lasts a while longer than I had hoped, making it rather awkward.
“It’s not that funny.” I say.
“It’s hilarious. Honestly. I can’t stop laughing – you ass.” His laughter becomes almost a roar. What is his laughing about? Well I told him my story about the gentleman with the nice suit.
Not long after I had accepted his offer of a hot drink, we sat in a corporate coffee shop. Me, with hot chocolate. Him, with a bottle of water. His suit looked even better whilst he perched on his stool.
“Nice suit.” I say looking it up and down, “Where can I get one...?”
“Thanks. I think you’ve said that about 10 times now.” He chuckles. I await an answer, it doesn’t come.
“No seriously...where can I get it?”
He chuckles again. It annoys me. I get set to ask again before he interrupts, “That Jewish joke was funny. I loved it!”
“Jewish joke?” I enquire.
“Yeah, back at the station...you knew she was Jewish right? Genius joke.”
“I didn’t do a Jewish joke. I didn’t even say the word Jew. I was talking about...”
“It was great. Seriously.” He says, interrupting again.
“Okay, well, it wasn’t actually...” I mumble, trying to set the record straight.
“So you’re a writer huh?”
“Yeah.” I reply, taking a sip of my drink, trying my hardest not to get annoyed.
“Anything I would know?”
“A book called Sexy Utopia.”
“What’s it about?”
“A guy looking for love...and he...”
“Awesome...what else have you written?”
“Well I’m in the process my journals on Happiness and also writing my second book – a poetry novel...”
“Poetry?” He laughs. “Sounds boring. You want to consider writing something else.”
“Well the way it’s written is unique; I’m trying to create a new genre with it so...”
“I want to write a book.” He says sharply. “Can you help me?”
I hear this question every time I tell someone I’m a writer. Most of the time I tell people that ‘I’m involved in media’ to avoid that very same question. I begin to speak, “Well...”
Again, he interrupts, “Can you?” He looks at me with ‘wanting’ eyes. I hate people who want things from me. They talk to you for a few minutes and then ask a question wanting a response that benefits them.
“Well, as I was about to say, I don’t really do that.”
“Do what? Help people?”
“Well that too...but I meant do ghost writing.”
“My story is really interesting...”
“Everyone says that, but I mean, really is it?”
He sits back, his face turns to stone. “What do you mean ‘is it’?” He asks, offended.
“Everyone has ‘an interesting story’, allegedly. The line ‘my story is interesting’ should come with a compulsory ‘allegedly’ after it.”
He looks me in the eye with contempt.
“You know I’m starting to think that Jewish lady was right about you. You might just be an idiot.”
“Yeah well did you know you have an annoying habit of interrupting people?”
“Interrupting people?” He says, in an animated manner.
“Yes. Interrupting. You’ve done it about...”
He interrupts, “I do not have a habit of ‘interrupting’ people.”
“You did it again!”
“Screw you.” He shouts out – drawing the attention of everyone in the nicely mapped out shop.
He sits back and sulks. I finish my hot chocolate with a smile. Ready to leave, I try and offer a few words as a token of appreciation for him purchasing the drink. But all I can come up with is, “So where DID you get that suit? I wanna get one just like it...”
He gives me an evil stare.
“I have to go now.” I say, “I got work to do. As I’m sure you do. You seem like a high roller. You probably have numbers to manipulate or a boiler room to frequent.”
“Actually I don’t.” He says bitterly.
“You don’t what?”
“Have anywheree to go.”
“Okay...maybe you can go and work from home then?”
“Work on what?”
“Whatever it is you work on...”
“I don’t have a job.”
“Oh.” I say, confused. “But what about the suit?”
“I found it.” He replies, his eyes looking down. His brain almost switched off.
“You found it? How do you find a suit?”
“I just found it alright?” He shouts out.
“I’m just saying, how do you find a suit? Do you like walk down the road and fall over a new suit on the ground and go, ’hey I found a suit!’”?
He gives me another evil look followed by the word “Bye.” – intimating that I should leave. I do so.
This is the story that sent my agent into fits of laughter. When he finally calms down he looks at me – he wants something too.
“Where’s the book? You came here a couple of weeks back and told me you’d ‘email me’. I’m still waiting for the email.”
“Oh come on, you know that was a throwaway sentence.”
“Throwaway phrase?”
“Yeah, ‘I’ll email you’ – it doesn’t mean I’ll email you. I means I won’t email you. It’s like me saying ‘I’ll call you’. I’m not going to call you, am I?”
“Why not?”
“It’s the unwritten rule of etiquette.”
“It’s an unwritten rule of etiquette to tell someone that you’re going to do something but then not do it?”
“Yeah.”
“I gotta tell you that’s bullshit.”
“Okay.” I say in disagreement, whilst smiling.
“You’re a freak sometimes. Seriously.”
I laugh, he chuckles.
“Well?” He asks.
“Well?” I ask him.
“The book? What are you doing here? Is the book finished?”
“Oh that.”
“Yeah ‘that’.”
“Nah, that’s not done. I came here because I have writers block – not ideal, I know. Especially now. But I’ve been writing a journal about happiness. I think it’s causing my block. I want to give it to you to hold onto for a couple of days. It might unleash my creativity again. Maybe even input your own thoughts about happiness in there too.”
“You’re kidding me?”
“No, I’m serious.” I push the journal against his turquoise tie. He takes it and holds it like a newborn baby. “I’ll come back here in two days and take it back. I just need a break.”
He watches me leave with the look of a man who has surplus responsibility. Maybe he'll learn something from chapter six.
