Lights, camera – Wayne 46

[For back story go here: Story so far at 30 Nov 2020 and this one.]

[Other back story through in-links.]

Times had been hard for Michael MacCabe but he wasn't going to let that stand in his way as a world-renowned filmmaker. With several half-impressive awards and short lists under his belt he felt entirely justified in telling whoever wanted to listen that he was part of the future of film, like it or not, love him or loathe him, he and his inimitable (and as yet undefined) style were here to stay.

MacCabe had tried for the heavy hitters of the music world, and he'd for the not so heavy hitters as well. He's almost landed an up-and-coming band for his documentary but then discovered they had come up a bit too fast for him to latch onto. Fame was like that – one second you'd do anything to get exposure, the next you'd do anything to stop people from using you in case they were naff and you just got nowhere.

When ManzDown received the phonecall from MacCabe he wasn't himself. He certainly didn't look like himself, although he was adamant that he could see, in the mirror before him, the germ of an idea of what or who ManzDown could become. Dave wasn't so certain. At that moment he could just see his boyfriend wearing a bunch of clothes that didn't suit him.

"It's just cos they're new," said Wayne. "I mean, there's nothing entirely wrong here, is there?"

"Well," said Dave, "They fit."

Wayne was still in front of the mirror when he was on the phone to MacCabe.

"Things have changed a bit," he said. "I mean, I've sort of moved on in terms of what I've been doing. Was I working with Jezzy when you were in touch before?"

"Things have changed for me too," said MacCabe, mirroring him. "I've basically realised that this is the story I want to tell. Something to do with grime music, authentic, real world, actual, you know? None of that over the top showmanship bravado."

"Hm," said Wayne, jazzing up his sleeves a little and trying to check out the back line of the jacket. "We're all showmen to some extent, you know? Gotta sell and sparkle for the fans some way."

"What I'm saying is it's not just froth, right?" said MacCabe. "Your story comes from the streets, from lived experience, right? There's no high and over the top romantic view of the world..."

"Have you heard my last tune?” asked Wayne. "The love song, did you..?"

"I haven't heard it, no. Can you send me a link?"

Wayne decided to let this pass for the general good.

"Like I say," said Wayne, "Things have changed."

"Sounds like a great story," said MacCabe, regardless. "When can we meet?"

"Hold on," said Wayne and put his phone on mute.

MacCabe's heart quickened. After all that disappointment and rejection he was going to land ManzDown. It was going to happen, he was just on hold while Wayne sorted the details his end.

What Wayne was actually doing was taking off his trousers and trying on another pair. He removed the daring red pair in favour of a simple pair of black jeans. This would tone things down but also allow him to assess the shirt and jacket combo more easily.

"What do you think?" he asked Dave.

"Trousers are good," said Dave with a mouthful of ginger biscuits.

"Do you mean these ones or in general?" Said Wayne.

"Them," said Dave. "Nice colour."

Wayne sighed, unimpressed with the feedback. He picked up the call again.

"The other thing that's changed is my family," he said. “If I remember correctly you wanted to talk about my family, right?"

"Absolutely," said MacCabe. "Where have you come from, how do they see you, how you get along."

"Well, that's just it," said Wayne. "Not sure we do."

"We can work with that."

"Not sure I want to work with that," said Wayne.

"Well, we can discuss it before we start shooting anything," offered MacCabe. "So we don't go and do anything you don't want to."

Wayne sensed the whole film was becoming more complicated by the second. This would require a carefully considered contract which not even Cath could drawn up without three week's notice and a nice load of previous cases from which to draw.

"Are you not in touch with your mum any more?" asked MacCabe, semi-hopefully and already figuring what he'd need in the fictitious contract that was in his head.

"It's not that we're not talking," said Wayne, "It's that we're not talking much."

"Still sounds like a great story," said MacCabe, regardless. "When can we meet?"