The one where I make my first (of many) court appearances

Ooops. I'm due in court today. So... I get up early. But… of course. Even though it’s on the schedule, even though we talked about it the day before… Mr X’s calling. Demanding. He wants information. But… there’s nothing I can do. I’m due in fucking court. And I don't want to be late.

Anyway. I get to the court. Enter. Everyone looks a bit scary. And they’ve all got big evidence files or something. I’m there. A small red file I’ve done. I brought it myself. I'm in court, this time, for talking on my cell phone. If the cop doesn't show up, I'm off the hook and get my money back. There’s a proper judge. Proper people. And I’m sitting with the crims… because I’m a crim.

This doesn't look right though. This is a proper court. Proper judge. The police are scary in here. So are the people I'm sitting with. I have all my teeth and a full head of hair. I'm one of the few who has both. I'm a bit worried now. Something's not right. I definitely am not feeling this.

Anyway… my name’s not read out. I run out. I’m not listed. Huh? I race down the corridor. Aha. There's the traffic court. Nada. No name. Aren't I due in court? Today? No? Seems not. Seems I got the wrong day. All that for nothing. Doh. Quite how I'm going to get another morning free... I don't know. I'll be back in court in four days. Oh good.

I head over to the studio. And sit. Sit in another meeting. I know. I know. I should be grateful. I’m getting to be part of the movie making process. But… I’m not. The other girl sitting there. Keen as mustard. I'm falling apart. I'm tired all the time. My motivation is slipping away. This is not good. I'm trying really hard to be grateful. Really hard. But I'm dribbling with tiredness. Ulp.

So... Me? I’m off to the get the lunches. As ever… I don’t know what it is about Mr X’s fucking lattes. Spiced Pumpkin Latte. Venti. I end up spilling it all over myself. I’m always covered in the sickly orange goo. And it smells. It’s all over my car. It’s all over my clothes. I’m always covered in the shit.

And… then there’s the lunch runs. Getting food for seven people. And then someone, usually Mr X's brother, always insists on getting an iced tea or something. Does have any idea how difficult it is to balance seven items of food, soup and then… a tea? No. And that’s why Hollywood assistants are made of stern stuff. But me? I’m not made of stern stuff. I’m really suffering. I’m not sure what I’m doing any more.

FOLLOWING DAY....
I’m meeting the girls at Juniors for brunch. Turns out LH knows Mr X. Ish. Everyone knows everyone in this city. Small world. Anyway. The blackberry goes. It’s 12pm now. Mr X wants a table at the Buffalo Club this evening for four people. It’s a national holiday. I phone. You need a credit card deposit and it’s a set menu. AND…. It’s full to capacity. I push them and they say they can squeeze them in. Hooray!

I let Mr X know. He’s not interested. He wants Nobu now. Four people. National holiday. It’s all booked. I let Mr X know. Call back. Tell them it’s Mr X. I did. We’re still on the wait list. The Matre’D’s going to call me back. I wait. I’m not there at the brunch. I'm not present. I’m a mess. I just want him to get his table.

We leave Juniors.

I phone Nobu again. And again. Can they please fit him in? Later that day – I hear back. Mr X has his table. I let him know. He now wants a table outside at the back of the patio. They’re fully booked. There’s a party of 12 there. But they’ll put him at the patio. Brilliant. Hurrah! He goes there a lot so they know him...

Half an hour before the booking’s going to met. Mr X. He can’t make it. They’re going to be late. The table needs to go to 8pm. By this stage I’m at Tamara’s. It’s JS’s party tonight, but I’m dealing with it all. Nobu were lovely. Really lovely. I've not eaten there yet but they were great. I'm so happy they helped me.

I’ve been checking the emails recently. Mr X’s still talking about me going to Pittsburgh. Next week. I mean? What? Can’t he tell me first? He’s not made a decision but I’m fairly sure about mine – I don’t want to move to Pittsburgh. I really don’t. I want to stay. But we need to talk. Maybe I can stay. Maybe he’ll just go. I have no idea what’s going on with my life any more.

I’m off to JS’s. It’s in a dive bar, the place with the racist statue. A strange bunch. An Australian actress turns up but I didn’t talk to her. She wasn’t overly friendly and I couldn’t be bothered. I hate it. Still. At least I forgot about all the stuff I did today. I drove Tam home and got back around 4am. Shattered.