Therapy

tranquillizer, or an ordinary anti-depressant, but an entirely new wonder-drug. I gave him a real sales pitch... Sure, honey, don’t you? Doesn’t everybody in Hollywood?... Well, Nick and I swear by it. Sure. We have a chart thumbtacked to the kitchen wall telling us when to take our little green and white capsules... Well, it changed my life... No, I wasn’t depressed, you don’t have to be depressed to take it. It does wonders for your self-confidence. Like I’d never have had the courage to resign from Mediamax without Prozac... Oh, yeah, I read that story in Time magazine but I never experienced anything like that... You should try it, really, Stella... Well, there is one side effect, I have to admit: it makes it harder to have an orgasm. But as you haven’t got a lover at the moment, honey, what have you got to lose? No, of course not, Stella, but Prozac could tide you over... Well, fine, honey, we all have our own ways of coping with adversity... Oh, I drove him back to the Beverly Wilshire and he fell asleep in the car, either from booze or jet-lag or disappointment or a combination of all of them. The bell captain opened the door of the car, and I gave Tubby a kiss on the cheek, and pushed him out and watched him stumble into the lobby. I felt kinda sorry for him, but what could I do?... I don’t know, I suppose he’ll go back to London... Would you really?... Well, I don’t know. I could ask him, if you like... Are you sure this is a good idea, Stella?... Well, if you say so. You realize he’s not exactly England’s answer to Warren Beatty, don’t you?... Oh he’s clean all right, you don’t have to worry about that. I’ll call him right now and tell him I’ve got this gorgeous unattached girlfriend who’s dying to meet him... Speak to you soon.
     

* * OLLIE * *
     
    OH, HALLO GEORGE, how goes it in Current Affairs? Good good. Oh, surviving, just about. Thanks, I need one. Draught Bass, please. Oh, make it a pint. Ta. Yeah, one of those mornings. My secretary is off sick, our fax machine is on the blink, the BBC have snapped up a Canadian soap I had my eye on, and some cunt of a solicitor is suing us because he has the same name as the bent lawyer in that episode of Motorway Patrol — did you see it? No, the week before last. Ah, thank you, Gracie. And a packet of crisps, smoky bacon flavour. No, no, George, let me pay for the crisps. Well, if you insist. Thanks, Gracie. Cheers, George. Ah. I needed that. What? Oh, I suppose we’ll buy him off with a few grand, it’s cheaper in the long run. Shall we sit down? Over there, in the corner. I like to have my back to the wall in this place, less chance of being overheard. Yeah, but it doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you. Ha ha. Here we are. Have a crisp. If I could open the bloody packet. They should make something to open these plastic packets with, something like a cigar-cutter you could carry in your pocket, I’ve a good mind to patent it, you could make a fortune. Oops! See what I mean? Either it won’t open at all or it splits down the middle and spills the whole shoot in your lap. Have one, anyway. I saw a bloke in a pub the other day, I swear to God he went ten rounds with a packet of Walton’s Crisps. Broke a fingernail trying to tear the packet open, damn near broke a tooth trying to bite through it, finished up in desperation setting fire to it with his cigarette-lighter. I kid you not. I think he was trying to melt the corner of the packet but it went up in flames, whoosh, singed the bloke’s eyebrows and stank the place out with the smell of burning chip fat. Honest. Now if we put that on television we wouldn’t dare say Walton’s Crisps, they’d be down on us like a ton of bricks, well fair enough I suppose, but it’s coming to something if you have to check the name of every bloody solicitor in the country before a script can be cleared. Nice drop of beer, this.
    Yeah, it’s been one of those mornings all right. To top it all, I had a meeting with Tubby Passmore. A basket case if ever there was one. Well, he’s giving me a lot of grief at the moment. I suppose you know about Debbie Radcliffe? Oh, I thought Dave Treece would’ve put you in the picture. Well, keep it under your hat, but she wants to leave The People Next Door. Yeah. You bet it’s serious. Her contract runs out at the end of the current series, and she won’t renew at any price, the stupid cow. I dunno, she says she wants to go back on the