“I wish.”
Rosie laughs. “Okay, first of all, don’t give up yet. One shitty job—”
“Many shitty jobs. In a row!”
“Okay, fine, many shitty jobs do not mean you are a shitty filmmaker. Besides, you want to direct your own. Why don’t you make your own film?”
I pout. That is a solution I had been playing with for months but I’d been making people’s low-budget, non commissioned shorts for years now and they’re always terrible. I want to direct my own film, sure, but I’d want to at least be commissioned for a mid-budget feature and not a kickstarted short. I can’t get commissioned without at least having my name on a successful production and I can’t get on a successful production without already being on a successful production. Besides, there was the stubborn voice in the back of my head that liked to question whether I even really wanted to direct anymore, but I wrote that off as insecurity and stamped down on it whenever it cropped up.
“I just—ugh, just let me moan for a bit before I start thinking about all of that. I’ve mainly got to figure out how my landlord will accept the bread rolls I’ve been paid in as rent. I’m going to be out by next week.”
Rosie laughs. “Okay, why don’t you come stay with me for a bit, just to get you on your feet. You can sleep on the couch and earn some money in the pub over the road and then reassess whether you want to pack it in and go home.”
“Would you actually?” I ask quietly.
“Babe, I’ve been dying for you to come crash here since I moved in,” Rosie says.
“You’re so good to me you know that?”
“I know, I get funding from the government for supporting the sad and unemployed.”
After we hang up and my breakdown starts to progress into a slightly throbbing headache, I feel a little bit lighter. I might not have solved all of my issues tonight but at least I have a semi-plan. And that nagging voice in the back of my head can shut up.
* * *
Three weeks later I’m all moved into Rosie’s London flat. And by moved in, I mean my two suitcases are open at the end of the bed and I spend my time rummaging for clean underwear. Rosie has even managed to get me a few shifts at The Old Crown working behind the bar for a cheery old man named Steve. It’s not the nine-five routine I imagined as my backup but at least the money lining my bank account is relatively steady. Plus, it’s better than standing outside in the freezing cold with a smoke machine (which I returned…eventually).
I still feel that nag of something—definitelynotjealousy—when I see Rosie leave in the morning in her stylish work wear on her way to her cushy production house in Soho, but I’m making money and getting back on my feet.
On one of my only Friday nights off, I’m waiting for Rosie to come home so I can open the bottle of vodka in my suitcase without feeling extremely alcoholic. Checking my phone for an update on my temporary roommate’s ETA, I glance at the exchange we shared earlier.
Rosie: Send me your CV
Me: Why
Rosie: Send it and I’ll tell you why
Me: CV.dox
Me: Why do you need mycv
Me: Why
Me: Rosie
Me: Why
Using my closed laptop as a table, I paint my nails whilst watching a rerun of theRobin Carlson Show. Jackson Harper is on making everyone laugh on the press tour for the new action blockbusterStarboard Bound, a film about the hijacking of a big boat, or cruise ship or whatever. He’s joined by his co star Danny Covington who sits sulkily lapping up Harper’s jokes and barely answering questions with more than two words.Spoilsport, I think bitterly.
“Honey, I’m home.” Rosie shouts from the door as she kicks it shut behind her. “I brought food. Don’t tell Steve because I got it from the Chinese place down the road and I don’t want him to hate me.”
I stand with a mock gasp and move into the kitchen, “Not the Golden Dragon, Rose. They’ve been competing for months. The amount of fliers I’ve already had to hand out over there is going to give me carpal-tunnel.”
“Well, we’ll hide the packaging so he will never need to know,” Rosie says, pulling out boxes of noodles.
“What’s the occasion, anyway? You never order in.” Unlike me, Rosie is a healthy person and believes having more than one meal a day of entirely processed and salted foods is bad for you.
“We’re celebrating,” Rosie says promptly.
