Sunday Chilly

This week I'm going for Ethiopian coffee, it used to be the house's coffee of choice, when Shane was here, half Ethiopian and half mocha, replacing last weeks Mexican, just not strong enough. I am going back to Columbian that's for sure. Who said change was good?

The fire is crackling. I know it's 9am and not so cold, but I just hate seeing the heart of the house dead as coal. I can't let a fire go out either, it's beyond me.

I've just been thinking of what Aby said to me, as a parting comment - I must have had more of those maitai's than I thought - the other night.

I've finished the first draft of the script, I'm taking it with me, it's going to become a reality, our movie.

We both brainstormed the ideas and characters. I wrote all the early stuff, acts, plot points. I wrote the two alternative sketchy first story ideas. I wrote the first couple of drafts. Then we were collaborating on rewriting. Then Aby and Mark had the fight and we haven't spoken about it since. We haven't seen much of each other lately, Ab and me.

Aby is staying with Jacob, who walked in the other night, just as I was leaving, looking good too, who's at NYU film school and loving it. The contacts should be at least thin on the ground, but still contacts.

I may have been distracted from what Aby was saying by Jacob. Aby will be sponging off him, to be sure. Last one of Ab's friends who are going to support her? The last one of Ab's friends who has rich parents who won't notice they are supporting a third - they support Jacob and his brother, Josh, an animator, in any thing they want to do. That's apartments, one in NYC natch, cars and holidays for when their baby boys are exhausted from all the good they are doing in the world. That's a holiday house on the beach in Thailand, as well as the rest of the world... Remember, Aby is a princess, which is the, at least part, reason why she and Mark fell out. Mark dared to suggest that she could wash a dish or serve a table to elevate her financial woes, rather than just boring all of us with them. Aby flew into a rage.

I'm an artist, I'm not a dish hand!

She'd never be slumming it too much, no matter where she was.

Or at least, I think that is the reason, Mark dared to deconstruct Aby's woes. I was never quite sure what all the fuss was about. Tom says I will never hear a bad word said about Mark that I'm deaf to his criticism, so I guess I'm not the one to ask, anyway. It seemed to be over nothing.

Then, of course, Aby not speaking to Mark became a problem around me, due to Mark and I being lovers since we were twelve. We're separate people, folks. We think independently. We've even split up, hello?

Aby and Mark haven't spoken since.

Aby and I got our degrees at the same time, mine in writing, her's in directing. While mine was your regular, standard issue document... so standard issue, I'm sure, I could have run it up on my home computer, in minutes, handed to me in an unmarked, white, uni envelope - I got the days of my graduation mixed up, Tuesday Thursday, I checked Wednesday, who can keep up? Aby's was unfurled on the coffee table, calligraphy to the max, with it's own roll, acres of ribbons, complete with a wax seal. I never showed her mine. I don't even know where mine is, to be truthful.

Our film, hey. Cool.

Better finish the next one... you know, just in case... there's a two picture deal.

Big smile.

Patti Austin sings, Rock Steady.