‘I’m not upset,’ I say. ‘I’m angry.’
‘I’m not trying to insult you,’ says Art, ‘or your work.’
‘You could have fooled me.’
Art ignores this and says, ‘There’s a lot of good stuff in your script.’
‘Oh, really?’ I say.
‘Yeah.’ Art seems oblivious to my sarcasm. ‘I mean, obviously the pacing could do with some work. Mozzer’s first scene is waytoo long. And the scene where Ritchie arrives at the hospital feels a bit flat. But there are some genuinely great lines, despite all that.’ He gives me an encouraging little nod that actually looks sincere. ‘And some really nice character moments. You should be proud of yourself.’
‘I— you—’ There are so many things I want to say to this that I simply can’t get the words out. I am paralysed by rage.
Then a thought strikes me.
‘Oh my God, Art,’ I say. ‘Is this your way of trying tocharmme?’
I certainly don’t think Art Sullivan likes me very much, but it wouldn’t surprise me if he wanted to disarm the only person in the country who’s apparently immune to him.
‘What?’ Art sounds genuinely appalled.
‘Do you think this is how to win me over?’ I say. ‘Giving me a backhanded compliment that’s basically an insult so I’ll want to impress you?’
‘McDermott,’ says Art, ‘if I wanted tocharmyou – which I certainly don’t, I might add – I wouldn’t need to resort to weird manipulative tricks.’
‘If you wanted to charm me,’ I say, ‘you’d need to give me a lobotomy.’
‘Very droll,’ says Art. ‘You’ve just never witnessed the famous Sullivan charm in action.’
‘I certainly have not,’ I say with fervour.
His mouth twitches and for a surprising moment I think he’s going to laugh. But then he says, ‘Well, if I ever turned it on, you’d see why I have no need to “neg” anyone like some creepy pick-up artist.’
‘Alright,’ I say. ‘Do it.’
‘Do what?’ he says.
‘Turn it on!’ I say. ‘Your alleged charm!’
‘No,’ says Art. ‘I’m not in the mood.’
And he picks up his laptop bag and strolls out of the room.
How did I think for one singlesecondthat he wasn’t so bad after all?
Chapter Eight
INT:NORTHSIDEOFFICES
I’m still fuming when I arrive at work the next day. Cian Murphy gives me a filthy look as I pass him in the TV building lobby and I snap, ‘Oh grow up!’ and keep walking. I couldn’t get to sleep for ages last night because I kept thinking of everything I should have said to Art yesterday, witty zingers that would have shut him up and made him realise what a shitty, unprofessional thing he’d done. I hadn’t come so close to actually cursing someone since … well, since school.
How dare he read my script and act like that was no big deal? Howdarehe? And claiming he could charm me.Ha!
I stomp up the stairs, march through the open-plan space and fling open the door of our office, ready to pointedly ignore Art Sullivan.
But he’s not there.
Fine. Great. Brilliant. I’ll get more work done if he’s not lying around here moaning and groaning away. I’m not totally happy with that Sam and Sarah scene and Ritchie’s big speech to his dad in the hospital and Ihaveto get them right. We’ve got a brief check-in meeting with Bernard at eleven to discuss any issues that have surfaced while we’ve been writing our scripts and any small changes we might want to make to the storybeats going forward, and even though the deadline isn’t until the end of the day, I want to be able to honestly tell him that I’ve basically got a complete first draft. I don’t want to look like an incompetent beginner in front of everyone. Besides, Bernard might be a monster, but he’s my boss. And I really have to make up for that awful meeting on Monday.