
After I drove her home and waved her goodbye, it all kicked off.
I had the phone. I had the power. Fuck.
And there was no charger for the blackberry. Fuck.
Where's the Scott Speedman DVD? Where can Warner's send a package to Mr X? Who's going to turn the pilot light on at Mr X's place (SoCal Gas as it happens... but what do I know of Californian gas companies)? What time's the pitch with the head of Paramount? Who's going to be there? What's available? Check with the co-writer... Check with Mr X... There's a fight co-ordinator in NYC. When's Mr X there for a meeting? Van Morrison tickets for the Hollywood bowl - he wants to go. I needed to get tickets. Oh and his Vacheron $10k watch. That needed picking up. A gift from his girlfriend (yet to meet). Fuck and Sundance needed some info from him. Where's the receipt for the dishwasher that was fixed? The landscape gardener needs to clear up, when's he coming? Who's fixing the screen door at the house? And then he's working across five or six projects, all of which are being co-written and I have to deal with who's who and what's what.
And my phone was dying.
And I heard that QPR had just sacked the manager. I barely flinched. I was busy finding out which project a Hollywood A-lister's working on with Mr X. Can I meet the A-Lister? I hope so.
I did it all. And I'm still not officially on staff. And... I've still not met my boss. We've been emailing. I collapsed into bed on Thursday night.
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