book and picked up the script and looked at the cast list; it was impressive, and I felt privileged that my name was on it. Right at its head, was Ewan Capperauld, undoubtedly Scotland’s best known movie actor; apart, that is, from old 007.I had seen him many a time, in the television series that had launched his career, and in most of his films.
Miles had worked with him before, having cast him, for a ton of money, in a key cameo part in his remake of Kidnapped a couple of years earlier; that film had been Dawn’s big breakthrough, in more ways than one.
The other feature parts would be played by my old chum Scott Steele, who more or less cast himself as Chief Constable James Proud, by Bill Massey, a smooth English actor who would be perfect as the bad guy, by Rhona Waitrose, an up-and-coming young Scot with big eyes and bouncy hair, just like Skinner’s daughter in the book, and by Masahi Katayama, a celebrated Japanese actor, who had one of the key roles and who would give the project added international appeal.
I knew Scott well, and Dawn of course, in a professional as well as a family sense, and was comfortable with them, but the idea of working with the others started the hamster running around in my stomach. I didn’t worry about it too much, though; I’d been in the business long enough to know that every performer has some nerves. Those who do best are those who overcome them best, and so far I’d managed.
There was one other guy on the cast list who would give the movie added value, and might widen its audience. One of the minor roles was a half-Irish, half-Italian detective called Mario McGuire. I’d persuaded Miles to give a test to my friend Liam Matthews, one of the stars of the Global Wrestling Alliance, where I’d cut my television teeth as ring announcer. All wrestlers these days are part-actor as well, and so he had sailed through. His major contribution to the story would be to get shot at the end, but no one can fake being hit like Liam.
I was smiling at the thought when the phone rang; so far only Susie, my Dad and Miles had the number, but I’d put my cellphone on divert when I’d come back in. I picked it up; Liam must have known I’d been thinking about him.
“How’re you doing?” I asked him. “Word perfect yet?”
“Christ, man, it’s hardly going to take me long. I’ve only got about ten lines, then I go down in this big gunfight. I’m not exactly playing Hamlet.”
“No, but you get your leg over, and that’s more than he does.”
“True; it has its compensations. Actually, I’m a bit worried about that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, when she gets her kit off, what if I sort of... You know what I mean, man.”
“Become aroused, you mean?”
“That’s the polite term, yes.”
“Try to think of something else, like Jerry Gradi throwing your arse across the ring.”
“Mmm. It might take more than that, depending on the lady’s appearance.”
“Look, man,” I told him, ‘it’s not a problem. They put something in your tea; that’s what happened in Toronto.”
He bought it. “Christ, man, are you fucking serious! How long does it take to wear off?”
“Not long. After a couple of weeks, you should see the first signs of life.”
I heard him gasp. “A couple of weeks ...” He stopped. “Fuck it, I think I’ll just wear baggy pyjamas.”
When I stopped laughing, I asked him why he had called. “To wish you all the best,” he began, ‘to ask after your new child, who is all over the funny papers .. . you never do anything conventional, pal, do you .. . and to pass on a message.”
“What’s that?”
“The office took a call today, while we were all on the way back from a show in Cardiff. It was a girl, and she was looking for you. She said her name was Alison Goodchild; and that she was an old friend of yours. She said she needs to get in touch with you, and
Miles had worked with him before, having cast him, for a ton of money, in a key cameo part in his remake of Kidnapped a couple of years earlier; that film had been Dawn’s big breakthrough, in more ways than one.
The other feature parts would be played by my old chum Scott Steele, who more or less cast himself as Chief Constable James Proud, by Bill Massey, a smooth English actor who would be perfect as the bad guy, by Rhona Waitrose, an up-and-coming young Scot with big eyes and bouncy hair, just like Skinner’s daughter in the book, and by Masahi Katayama, a celebrated Japanese actor, who had one of the key roles and who would give the project added international appeal.
I knew Scott well, and Dawn of course, in a professional as well as a family sense, and was comfortable with them, but the idea of working with the others started the hamster running around in my stomach. I didn’t worry about it too much, though; I’d been in the business long enough to know that every performer has some nerves. Those who do best are those who overcome them best, and so far I’d managed.
There was one other guy on the cast list who would give the movie added value, and might widen its audience. One of the minor roles was a half-Irish, half-Italian detective called Mario McGuire. I’d persuaded Miles to give a test to my friend Liam Matthews, one of the stars of the Global Wrestling Alliance, where I’d cut my television teeth as ring announcer. All wrestlers these days are part-actor as well, and so he had sailed through. His major contribution to the story would be to get shot at the end, but no one can fake being hit like Liam.
I was smiling at the thought when the phone rang; so far only Susie, my Dad and Miles had the number, but I’d put my cellphone on divert when I’d come back in. I picked it up; Liam must have known I’d been thinking about him.
“How’re you doing?” I asked him. “Word perfect yet?”
“Christ, man, it’s hardly going to take me long. I’ve only got about ten lines, then I go down in this big gunfight. I’m not exactly playing Hamlet.”
“No, but you get your leg over, and that’s more than he does.”
“True; it has its compensations. Actually, I’m a bit worried about that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, when she gets her kit off, what if I sort of... You know what I mean, man.”
“Become aroused, you mean?”
“That’s the polite term, yes.”
“Try to think of something else, like Jerry Gradi throwing your arse across the ring.”
“Mmm. It might take more than that, depending on the lady’s appearance.”
“Look, man,” I told him, ‘it’s not a problem. They put something in your tea; that’s what happened in Toronto.”
He bought it. “Christ, man, are you fucking serious! How long does it take to wear off?”
“Not long. After a couple of weeks, you should see the first signs of life.”
I heard him gasp. “A couple of weeks ...” He stopped. “Fuck it, I think I’ll just wear baggy pyjamas.”
When I stopped laughing, I asked him why he had called. “To wish you all the best,” he began, ‘to ask after your new child, who is all over the funny papers .. . you never do anything conventional, pal, do you .. . and to pass on a message.”
“What’s that?”
“The office took a call today, while we were all on the way back from a show in Cardiff. It was a girl, and she was looking for you. She said her name was Alison Goodchild; and that she was an old friend of yours. She said she needs to get in touch with you, and
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