Looking Out

31 January

I don't know why I agreed and got in that car with Nick. It wasn't like I was trying to say anything in any way to Colin. I wasn't attempting to get in a last dig or say 'see I have other friends here too' or convey anger. I just did it. It was off the cuff and possibly, as we started to drive off in the streets of London, I was regretting it. Not that I wasn't actually grateful I was avoiding the walk back, mind you, but I wasn't so dense as to not notice we weren't headed in the right direction either. From Oxford House you headed west to hit Knightsbridge. We were going southeast towards the city. Okay, that was all I needed.

"Nick? You do recall where I'm staying, right?"

"Yes. I'm kidnapping you if you don't mind."

"Oh really? The plot thickens?"

"Not precisely. You haven't gotten that far, have you? I mean you haven't made headway at all. I'm about to bring you around."

"That remains to be seen, I suppose."

We went past The Bank and into Cheapside and I really was feeling like I was being taken for a ride. All three miles of it.

"So why are we here exactly?"

"We need to talk. I need to talk, you need to listen."

"Couldn't we do this another time? Or couldn't we just have done so in my flat?"

"No."

"No? Look Nick, I appreciate, but........."

"And that's another thing. You've been awfully quiet through this all. The two times I've ever spent with you before this month one could hardly get a word in. That has to change Diane. You have to get yourself back. Now, shall we?"

"It's not like I don't have a lot to say. I'm just not...I'm trying to be more tactful."

"Why is that?"

"It's necessary."

"Is it?"

"I think so yes."

"Come on then, we'll have to see about that."

I begrudgingly got out, re-wrapped my scarf and pulled my collar up around my neck better than I had in the car, where the heat was going. I was looking around to see where we could possibly be going to talk. I had gotten too comfortable to walk anywhere now, especially in the cold. If that was the plan I wasn't biting. Then again this wasn't a park or along the river, was it? No, we were surrounded by unassuming buildings, a couple of tall ones and medium ones. No restaurants I saw; for possibly taking in nourishment. Okay I was lost, let's be honest. I'd not been to this part of London at all.

"Over here."

"Over where? Where are we going?"

I followed his lead until we got to the door of one of the taller buildings in London. Not that I was absolute in my assessment, but one could tell.

"Here? Is this my Topper's Nick?"

I could feel a lecture coming on as we rode silently to the top floor and got off. Thankfully heights had never been a fear of mine inside a building. Certainly I wasn't a fan of a Ferris wheel or ski lifts and the like, but inside I was okay. I also wasn't a fan of one on one lectures about the state of my head or my writing skills; or shall we say the current lack of those skills at present? Though if one was going to have this occur he was one that I would likely chose to, at least, listen to.

"Not to worry, no open rooftop here. Just large windows."

"I wasn't concerned on that front Nick."

"So what are you concerns?"

"Relating to what?"

"You know damn well why you're here. Why I've brought you to this place."

"Confessional?"

"If you like. Have you one to give?"

"Not particularly, no."

He walked over to one of the windows and put his hands over his head looking out, then he turned back leaning on his hands against that same window, staring me down.

"You know two writers working together can be a fantastic experience for the both of them. The end product may well be a compelling and unique work. On the other hand it could be disastrous on all fronts. Here we have you and I attempting to see which way this will go. I had no qualms with it, though the waters have yet to be tested, have they? I've no idea if this is ever going to work or not. You've not given me, or us, the slightest chance to see where this may lead. Now why is that? I've been, almost daily, endeavoring to find the answer to your apparent lack of interest in this process. Now, don't say anything just yet. I'm fully aware you aren't about screenplays. That won't play, you see? You've done it before and admirably. So what is it, specifically, about this book that won't allow you to get out of your funk and get busy with the task at hand?"

He stopped. I knew what he was asking and I had no earthly desire to share my reasons with him.

"I'm relentless young lady and we're going to see this through if I have to keep on your ass until we kick start you. I'd asked you the other day to attempt the first scene. Have you? No, not at all. If we're to work together we have to know how the other works, what the others feelings are on the source material. We can't even begin if I don't know and you don't either."

"Nick..look, I'm sorry. This one just hits me wrong. It's not one I expected to be doing. I didn't write this book for a movie, I just did."

He walked away from me totally frustrated. It wasn't hard to figure out that he was.

"Piss and bullocks Diane, just tell me if you can. You do realize I've read the book...twice. You have to know I have this somewhat figured. But until you can accept it as this just being a movie. Oh Fuck."

"You figured what?"

This wasn't a good thing to be hearing from him now, was it?

"You have to tell me. It's kind of obvious, but it needn't go further than me, you understand? I'm not about to tell him, nor anyone."

Okay so maybe he didn't get it after all. And maybe he was right that no one else was going to see through it as us.

I took a deep breath and walked over in front of him.

"Nick, you've no idea how cool it was for me to be informed I was collaborating with you. Then the other shoe dropped when they told me it was for this. Fine. Let's get this behind us."

"You've quite an affinity for our mutual friend, have you not?"

"I do, yes, more than I'll ever admit."

"And this is like your fantasy or something to that effect?"

"In a word...yes."

I knew it was wrong, but I wasn't about to change his current perceptions.

"And all that nonsense last year is playing on you? You've a feeling this will add fuel to those dying embers that were flaming around all that time?"

"You could say that."

"Does he know?"

"I doubt it."

"For what it's worth you have a very vivid imagination. Would that it was me."

"Hey, I can do that. You can be Cal."

"Wouldn't work at all. But I have a clearer picture of your dilemma and I admire your working so closely with someone who's bones you would jump in a split second given the opportunity."

"Nick!!!!"

"Have I lied?"

"Well.....no. Nick, what are you doing here? Looking out for me? Keeping me from committing literary suicide or some weird thing? Is this why you brought me up here?"

"Possibly. Has it worked?"

"I don't know."

"Tell you what. You've kept yourself holed up in that flat far too long. You need to get back to yourself. You need to get out more. Start enjoying life again. Plausibly it will get those creative juices flowing again. How can anyone be expected to function when you're, in fact, not? Look, I've a dinner party Friday night. Just a few friends. I'll expect you there."

"You will, will you?"

"Yes, and bring what you've written by then; I'll have a look. Say seven o'clock?"

"Nick, are you so sure I'll have anything in three days that I haven't had in nine weeks?"

"I'm more than confident you will. Now, let's get you home, shall we?"

"Just one more thing. Where do you live?"