days.
Damian ordered another Manhattan. It seemed appropriate.
âIâve got a tab. Um. Itâs in my wifeâs name. Sheâs the member.â
Was the bartender ostentatiously hiding a smirk?
âAnd your wifeâs name, sir?â
âPoppy Evans-Wallace.â
He knew he was being childish. Poppy had insisted on keeping her maiden name for anything professional, which he was fine with really. That was how she was known in the TV world, after all. As it happened, the barman didnât even seem to notice the insertion of Evans, as he gave a little yelp.
âPoppy Wallace? Omigod, I just love her, sheâs so cute. They were filming here just a couple weeks back. That showâs gonna be a cult classic, yâknow. Have the drink with the compliments of the house, sir.â
âThank you.â Damian smiled, his heart swelling with pride. Even he, who probably loved and admired Poppy more than anybody in the world, hadnât foreseen her new show being quite such a success. All he had to do was emulate some of that success himself and theyâd be sorted. He took his drink from the bartender, thanking him again, and walked back to his sun lounger, fired up and full of fresh resolve to crack New York.
Opening his emails again, he saw there was a new one from Simon Snell, from his
Esquire
address. His heart quickened as he opened it. Surely, Simon, of all people, would respond positively to at least one of the pitches Damian had sent him?
Iâm really sorry mate, but with this bloody recession weâre just not commissioning from freelancers at the minute. Of course weâve got to fill the mag somehow, so everybody with a salary is working twice as hard for their filthy lucre â I havenât left the office before 9 since I started here. Not that thatâs much comfort to you, I imagine. They were fucking good ideas though. Have you tried
GQ
? Their budget is massive compared to ours. Hope youâre having fun in NY â I see itâs 90 in the shade today. Itâs raining here. Plus ça change. BTW Iâve heard Poppyâs showâs going down a storm â please give her my congratulations. Sorry about the feature ideas, but Iâm sure something will come up soon. Courage, mon ami and au revoir x
Damian took a large swig of his Manhattan, mulling everything over. Of course heâd tried
GQ
â UK
and
US versions. Simon must have realized that. Also, since Poppyâs fling with Ben last year, it was very unlike Simon to say anything nice about her â though his Best Manâs speech, delivered through gritted teeth, Damian suspected, had been charm itself. His professional situation had to be bad, he concluded. So what to do? If even Simon couldnât pull any freelancing strings for him, he needed another project to get his teeth into. Hmmm. Maybe he could write a screenplay?
Excited now as much by his new idea as the two Manhattans and blazing sunshine, Damian opened a new document in Word and saved it as SCREENPLAY. Then he stared at the empty page for a few minutes. Hmmm, he thought again. He probably needed another drink for inspiration. He drained the dregs of his Manhattan and made his way back to the bar for the third time that hour.
âSame again, sir?â The bartender was positively effusive this time, flashing Damian a cheeky grin as he started preparing another Manhattan. âHey,â he added, to an enormous blond man standing next to Damian, âthis lucky guy is married to that cute Brit chick with the new TV show. Yâknow, Poppy Wallace? The one they were all raving about last night?â
âDude, that is cool,â said the Viking in a clearly Scandinavian accent, turning to pump Damian by the hand so hard his teeth rattled. âShe is one hot chick. Iâm Larsh.â
âDamian.â He shook back enthusiastically. âAnd thanks for the comments, both of you. Poppyâs even