Mitchell's Mustard Blog

July 8, 2011

Something I’m working on . . .

Filed under: My Work — mitchellsmustard @ 9:23 pm


Sex, cigarettes and writing are the three most important things to him but recently it’s not been that simple. The girlfriend is working
away, the nicotine patches just don’t cut it and to top it all off he just isn’t writing. It doesn’t sound that bad to most but the way Lawrence felt right
now it couldn’t get worse, he knows that there are people with worse situations out there but to be honest he had his own problems to deal with instead of
worrying about theirs. That probably comes across as selfish but in Lawrence’s eyes if that’s what people think then they can worry about the troubled
strangers that always seem to pop up in these conversations and leave him alone.

Another hazy morning with the evidence of a fight with the bed covers and that the room hasn’t had a lady’s
touch for over a fort night now, every night that passed it was slowly becoming a lad’s pad and the scent of her was starting to go missing. ‘Her’ being
Lawrence’s girlfriend spends a lot of time away on business so he was used to flying solo but this time round it was a little different because they had had
one of their equally stubborn arguments about everything and nothing and not had chance to talk and make up before she went, when they spoke on the phone it was hanging over their conversations which made it awkward. It wouldn’t be long until she was back and they no doubt will sort the issue and make up, the thing that scared Lawrence though was a little bit of him felt like he wasn’t bothered if they did or didn’t but he knew when he saw her face he’d fall for
her again. Suddenly it felt like a good time to have a cigarette but that was his mind just teasing him with what he wants and what he can’t have, a bit like
that saying  that doesn’t make sense ‘you can’t have your cake and eat it’. Who buys cake just to look at it?

Tea was first on the agenda, with stiff joints that obviously hadn’t woken like the rest of him he rolled his
legs over the edge of the bed and took the first steps of a brand new day. The chocolate brown carpet was so thick it lapped the skirting boards like a wave
and to feel that between his toes every morning was a reminder of the argument he had had with his girlfriend about spending twice as much as they needed to
on carpet, this feeling justified the argument and a month of being broke because it felt so good and for Lawrence it meant starting every day with a
smile and she won’t admit it but he could tell she loved it an equal amount. One of the easiest decisions to make can seem such a challenge in the morning; do
you make tea first or go to the toilet? Obviously going to the toilet first would be the better option but Lawrence was a sucker for a cup of tea so he
spent the first 5 minutes of the morning hopping up and down in the kitchen waiting for the kettle to boil.

Showered, sleep out of the eyes and stubble trimmed because that’s how the aftershave models do it these days.
Lawrence picked the daily paper off the hallway floor whilst wondering if the paper boy was just eager or he purposely used a lot of force to try and beat
his personal best hallway distance. Like every morning he thumbed through the paper wondering why he bothers getting it because it’s always bad news but
still feels like he should be in the know, a couple of pages about war in the far east, even more pages on which celebrity is sleeping with a footballer and
bits and pieces on cheap flights and holidays in Dubai.

Paper read and toast eaten he sat there and realised how quiet this apartment is without ‘her’, they had a beautiful modern kitchen that was awash with chrome, marble, glass. In the centre they had a breakfast table and sink island surrounded by marble work surfaces and a beautiful view of the Cambridge skyline from the window, he could sit there all day and watch the world but he knew he had to keep busy or the cigarette monkey would be back on his shoulder before long.

Lawrence is a writer of many bestselling novels and writing is his passion, he is known for his outlandish statements, sharp tongue and his bad boy style of writing. Most readers were shocked by his style but wouldn’t be able to put his books down because of
what he might say next, he was known in the media limelight but if you called him famous you would receive a verbal slap to the face. A 9-5 job was something
of Lawrence’s past so today’s plan was to eat, sit at the typewriter and stay out of mischief. Sounds easy enough but his writers block seemed to be a hurdle
that touched the clouds and many missed calls from his agent is putting the pressure on.



It wasn’t until around 3pm that Lawrence made it back to his apartment; he popped out at around 10am to get some ingredients for a hearty breakfast
and ended up spending far too many hours in Al’s music store on Kings Street strumming classics like ‘smoke on the water’ and ‘immigrant song’ on a pearl
blue Fender.

The first day Lawrence had walked into Al’s music he was drunk and just wanted to make some noise so he straddled
a drum kit and proceeded to smash the cymbals and bass drum as hard as he could, even though Al recognised him as this famous novelist he still dragged
him off the drum stool and out the door. The next day he came back to apologise and they got to know each other quite well so Lawrence could be found in there quite often playing around. Lawrence always found it quite funny how people recognised him but always pulled that face to say they just couldn’t place him, which was enough because if people started bugging him for pictures and autographs while he was out and about then he’d have to consider a good
disguise or maybe plastic surgery. On the odd occasion people did recognise him from television interviews or pictures in magazines but they were rare because
he turned down most interviews, he only did the ones that his agent said he had to do and even with them he always came across bored and sleepy.  Because of this most people thought he was arrogant but for Lawrence it was never about fame and money, it was about the

Back in the apartment he noticed that his answer machine was blinking at him like an excited dog wagging its
tail, with closer inspection it said 3 messages . . . . First one was his agent asking Lawrence to pull his mobile out of his own arse and call him . . .
‘BEEP’ delete. Second one was a recorded ‘have you had an accident in the last 6 years’ message . . .’BEEP’ delete. Third one was from ‘her’ saying that she
wished she was coming home, that he was perfect and that she loved him . . .’BEEP’ saved.  Lawrence decided to keep
that message so he can play it to ‘her’ next time they argue.

A buzzing and beeping started to come from the iphone on the breakfast table in the kitchen, looking at the screen he
thought it was about time he answered to his agent.

“Geoff, where have you been? I’ve been trying to ring you all day” Lawrence said laughing.

“You bastard . . . are you ok? Why haven’t you been answering my calls?” panicked Geoff.

“I went out to get some breakfast and ended up at Al’s to strum some love”

“This agent thought you’d given up the ghost but no . . . you just out finger banging a Fender . . . Great, I know
what you’re like when Jennif . . . .”

“Don’t say her name . . . . I’ll only end up thinking about her” Lawrence cut in.

“Sorry . . . . I know what you’re like when ’she’s’ away Lawrence“

“I’m ok, what do you want anyway? What do I owe you apart from a new book?” Lawrence said laughing

“Can you come round to mine when you’re free? We need to go through some paperwork and see if we can kick start
your career, before you say no . . . It’s a must!”

“Awwww mum . . . really? I’ll be round later.” Lawrence hung up and laughed to himself, he knew he was lucky to
have such a good relationship with his agent and to be honest lucky that his agent had stuck with him for so long.

Lawrence and Geoff had been introduced years ago at a house party for the rich and senseless, they spent
the evening laughing at the stupidity that’s caused by money such as bad taste in art and wallpaper. After that they always bumped into each other at parties
and social occasions, there was always the usual talk of meeting up sometime soon to look through some work but it always seemed to be part of the
pleasantries rather than actually amounting to something. One morning after another encounter with Geoff at an ugly money mansion Lawrence was in his local shop picking up some milk, as he pulled out some change from his skinny black denim pocket he also found Geoff’s crooked and battered business card hugging a couple of pound coins. It looked like it had had better days which Lawrence related with at that moment, he got home and made tea and decided to send something he was working on to Geoff’s email not expecting anything in return. Within two days Geoff had rang him,

“Lawrence it’s Geoff, I read your email. Who’s your agent? And what are they doing?”

“Hi Geoff, yeah I finally got round to sending you a little something didn’t I? Are you a fan?”

“Who’s your agent?” Geoff asked again,

“I’m in between agents right now Geoff, you think there’s something there?”

“You have an agent now . . . . . we need to meet.”

And so that’s how the bromance started between writer and agent, they still went to the same parties to meet people and ridicule the decoration but the difference was they now turned up together.


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