Irvine Welsh - If You Liked School, You'll Love Work

Back at my Santa Monica rental at night, when I didn’t have Pen on my mind, which wasn’t a whole lot, I kept thinking about Yolanda and her needy hunger. Cravin so much from people but lockin herself away, just incubatin that loneliness. So that when someone did come into her life, her desperation flooded them.

My script, Big Noise , seemed to keep on comin to mind, particularly the character of Julia. She was the reverse of Yolanda. That was her problem, she didn’t seem to need much of anythin from anyone, but was still in everybody’s face. One night, looking out from my balcony toward the Pacific, which was a few blocks away but felt like about twenty miles, I got to thinkin that maybe if Julia was older, faded, less cool, less in control…

Suddenly inspired, I got up, went to the kitchen table and clicked on my laptop, firing up Final Draft. I sat down and I pulverized that goddamn keyboard, scarcely believing those fingers were mine. As a writer I had always been a plodder, a diligent chipper. Now I was blazin, locked into my subconscious, and the pages were flyin out of me. Over those next three nights I bashed out another draft, still buzzin on the adrenalin and plenty of strong, black coffee.

I ain’t too stiff-assed to admit that I was tremblin with excitement when I took my disk down to a local Kinko’s and printed off a hard copy. When I read it I couldn’t believe how good it was but I tried to calm myself down. I know writers have a way of foolin themselves that what they’ve just done is the one . Sure, I figured that I should maybe stick it in a bottom drawer for a few weeks, see how different it read once I got a little distance from it. But for some reason I didn’t, I just read it again and went with that feelin, emailin a copy straight over to Martha.

The next mornin she calls me, her voice uptempo. I’m more excited than ever but I soon hit the earth with a bump. — Sorry, darling, I’m delighted that you’ve finished another draft of Big Noise and I’m happy to receive it, but I haven’t checked my email yet. It’s just that I have some very good news.

Then she tells that I’ve been offered this video shoot I’d been previously told I’d just missed out on, from this guy representing this hot new British band, the Majestic Reptiles, who were going to be touring out here next spring. The dude they had lined up had been in a motorcycle accident and had to pull out. And the money was good. Maybe not as good as the car ad but it sure wasn’t bad and it would be good to have somethin else on my showreel, which you couldn’t file under ‘fucksploitation’. I’d probably only got the gig as I was available in LA at the time, but fuck it, sometimes you need a goddamn break. Things were certainly lookin up, but my mind was elsewhere. — But you will look at the new draft of Big Noise , Martha?

— I promise you I’ll read it right now, if you promise that you’ll lighten up a little and celebrate your good fortune. Deal?

— Deal.

I was as good as my word. To celebrate I took two ol LA-based friends, Brett and Evan, out for a drink at the Chateau Marmont. For a bit it was just like old times except that I was the only one who wasn’t on the sauce. I kept thinkin bout what a motley crew we were; the porn rigger with ambitions to be an art-house writer/director, the standard LA wannabe-actor/bartender, and the songwriter who gigged in sleazepits like Pen’s, but who wanted to write film scores that would make Mancini wet his pants. As was our sad routine, we’d sit there fantasizing about our imaginary movies, casting then rejecting everybody who came in: Keanu, Kirsten, Val, Bob, Colin. Then, through their increasing inebriation, Brett and Evan made me painfully aware that I was the cold ass sipping the mineral water. As they blasted off to that other planet, I could feel their resentment bubblin thinly under the surface of the evenin. They grew belligerent and bitter as they decried the success of others, while I sat bored and tight-lipped for the rest of the night. I felt a blessed relief when it was time to piss in the fire and call a halt to proceedins. I ran them home to Westwood and Venice Beach respectively, the broken, desperate dreams of drunks crashin around in my ears. I couldn’t see no role for me in their lives but as permanent designated driver. Which is another way of sayin I could see no goddamned role at all.

Then the next day Martha called again. I swear to God I’d talked to her more in that last week than I had in five years of being on her agency’s books. But when she started to speak I didn’t know which one of us was the most awestruck. — I can’t believe what you’ve done with Big Noise , honey… it’s a work of art… no, forget that, a work of genius!

It was me who couldn’t believe what I was hearing. This was Martha, and that gal had never exactly been prone to hyperbole. But then again, I guess I hadn’t given her nothin much to get carried away about. — I’m glad you like it—

— Like it? It’s so completely realized… and Julia… she’s totally unrecognizable from the first draft. Look, I’m sending this straight off to Don Fennel in New York with a ‘read immediately’ tag stuck on it. God, what a streak you’re on right now, honey!

I called Pen with my good news and she decided to take a few days off to fly to LA, which cheered me up no end. Every spare moment I got we just hung out in Santa Monica; makin love, watchin television, eating pizza and Chinese, catchin rays and lookin out to the ocean. One day we were just hangin out on the beach at Venice, watchin some surfer dudes doing their thing and somehow the ‘M’ word came up. I dunno who started that kind of fool talk, but it all ended with me asking, ‘Will you?’ and her saying, ‘For sure.’ As we trawled round Santa Monica until we found a suitable ring, we were both joyous, and even the fact that she had to head back down to Phoenix couldn’t take the goofy smiles off our faces.

We floated around on cloud nine, makin plans, or rather scenarios of happiness; moving up to LA and finding our own beach apartment, taking Pen to meet my folks who were gettin on and who’d appreciate new, younger blood in the family. Life couldn’t get much better than this, surely. Then Martha called sayin that she wanted to meet me for dinner. She wouldn’t tell me what it was about but she sure sounded excited. We arranged to meet in a restaurant on Wiltshire and for the first time she was earlier than me. More importantly, she was lookin like the cat that got a whole big bowl of cream.

— I don’t quite know how to say this. Don Fennel loves your script so much he wants to produce Big Noise . He’s confident he can raise the cash. You did say four point five million dollars, right?

I was so convinced that she was dickin me around, I wasn’t even slack-jawed about this ‘news’. Don Fennel, after all, was one of, if not the, hottest indie producer in America. — Don’t do this, Martha—

— I told him that you had to direct and he was cool with that, she said. It was round about then I saw she wasn’t jokin and I had to stop myself shoutin at the maître d’ for a vodka Martini. Martha pointed to the glass of Dom Pérignon she’d already had. — I know you don’t, but I must . Darling, Fennel absolutely loved the showreel. If you can shoot it for four point five million—

— Of course I can!

— Then it’s definitely going to happen!

— How can he love the goddamned showreel? It ain’t nothing but a handful of ads, pop vids and a couple of shorts that did zilch at the half-assed festivals they got screened at! I gasped. I couldn’t believe it. This just all seemed too good to be true.

— I tell you, I’ve never seen Don Fennel so excited about a script. I said to him, ‘It reminds me of Halliday.’ He just scoffed and said, ‘When was Halliday ever as good as that?’