Coming Around Again

(on financial instability of the middle class)

“You are a check that I cannot afford to pay”. A man once said that to me at the end of a first date, as the waiter brought us our bill. He was a boy really, early 20’s, and it was a lowlit underground ramen bar in the East Village of New York City. That he told me it as we were paying the bill felt a bit like in the old Elvis movies, where they’d diminish the icon by making him hold a prop lollipop whilst he was singing a line about a lollipop.

I thought of that long ago boy and his philosophy of why he couldn’t have a relationship with me as I tell my daughter, yet again this month, that no, I’m not going to buy her that because we can’t afford it right now. If she’d asked me a year ago, I would not have hesitated to hail a taxi because she felt tired, or purchase the LEGO FRIENDS magazine from Sainsbury’s just because she is bored. Or shop in Sainsbury’s instead of Aldi. We are broke right now - not poor because it can, it will come back, the ability to hail taxis and buy LEGO magazines. I have the privilege to make it so. My parents went to college, even if I’m a high school drop-out and I am white or white passing (depending who you ask) and there are no age old systems in place to impede someone like me moving up economically.

The position I am currently in is what I always refer to as a Coming Around Again problem. What’s that, you ask?

‘Coming around Again’ by Carly Simon, the 1986 theme from the film ‘Heartburn’ AKA the most upper middle class pop hit of all time. Not to be mistaken with ‘Let The River Run’, her 1988 theme from the film ‘Working Girl’ which is absolutely glorious but, as the name implies, in service of a working class heroine.

First of all, just to set the stage, Carly Simon is the daughter of the Simon in Simon and Schuster, so we’re talking generational wealth and success before you even get to the searing, aching key lyrics:

“You burn a souffle

You scream a lullaby”

AND, this being a cross I will die on: it’s absolutely beautiful writing. Just like Phoebe Waller-Bridge made a beautiful show despite or adjacent to being from the upper middle class.

So my point is, I am currently broke in a very middle class, bohemian way, having made the lifestyle choice to work in the arts. There was a publishing thing a few years ago where people posted transparently about what they were getting paid. I recently delivered a book I am very proud of in exchange for a low amount (low, because I am an author with a devoted cult following but have never had a bestseller that would justify receiving a large advance). This fee for my books is paid in quarters on signing, on acceptance of manuscript, on hardback publication and finally on paperback publication.

I usually do screenwriting alongside writing my books (other writers supplement novels with journalism or teaching. Some do indeed come from wealthy Carly or Phoebe style families). But when the screenwriting strike ended I realized this was the first book I’ve written that needed me 100% focused on it alone in order to get it where I wanted. Any time I looked elsewhere, I lost the thread (it incorporates a new genre for me).

Rents and mortgages changed hugely for everyone in the U.K the last year post Liz Truss fiasco premiership. Gas prices went way up post Ukraine invasion. Steel yourself for some real Coming Around Again stuff now: Leaving Virgin media in a huff because their Wifi service didn’t extend through my flat and they wouldn’t fix it without upgrading to a more expensive plan and then the final fee they charge you to leave them in a huff is like a “fuck you!” charge. Like you’ve wounded Virgin media’s delicate pride and charging you this final fee is the only way they can rectify their diminished sense of self. Please note: I am the lucky and grateful single mum who gets child support and it is used in full and if there’s a problem - eg: Virgin media disconnection charge, The aggrieved ‘Heartburn’ ex-husband of WIFI providers - there’s a problem).

Personal trainer of old? Out with the tide! Microcurrent facials? But a feverdream, like the reappraised memories in the second half of Mulholland Drive. A salesgirl at a lingerie boutique I used to shop at emails to say they have a Forest Green Angora cardigan that’s so me, and would I like to order it? Obviously, I tell them, I want to order it. But I tell them I can’t, I am financially restricted. I examine whether I am taking a sick delight in embarrassing them so I don’t have to feel any internal embarrassment for my predicament. What did you think I was? You thought my pursuit of Angora cardigans was permanent?

And trust me, if I can’t order a forest green Angora cardigan, you cannot have, my beautiful, brilliant child, twelve issues of Lego Friends magazine. Also: they’re not really your friends, they’re just reeling you in like OnlyFans models. OnlyFans models - well, the stories of homes bought in cash during lockdown when everyone was at home masturbating actually swell my heart. I can’t do OnlyFans modeling myself because because but I am genuinely so happy for them and their economic freedom, I kind of want to stand up and cheer.

A long time ago, there was a year that my old Los Angeles landlord, the actor, Scott Caan, wasn’t working. It was a bad year for him as it often is for actors (as it often is for writers). But it happened to be the exact moment I made my first big screenplay sale. Living in his guest house, I paid him a year’s rent in advance. I joked I could buy his house and HE could move into my guest house. This advance payment powered him through the lean moment, he got a lead in one of the biggest network TV shows of the last decades and now owns a few of the houses on our old street. That deal we made - to acknowledge that the financial tide of working in the arts ebbs and flows - was a magic seal on a beautiful friendship and we have each other’s backs, I think forever. (FWIW he showed up in the 2016 movie I directed, ‘Untogether’ and he’s superb. I said “Can you give me a take that’s a little more Elliott Gould?” and he knew exactly what to do).

I will get paid again by November, when my book has been signed off by legal, and I will be fine and you can cancel your paid subscriptions then. I know, financially, things will come right for me because I am privileged to live inside a Carly Simon song. The burned souffle is still edible. The screamed lullaby got an excellent review from Yoko Ono purists.

And to circle back romantically, you really want to tell me I’m a check you can’t afford to pay? It’s 2024! Sell your clothes on Vestiare. Give blood! Start a substack! And if you ever find that being in a relationship truly wipes out your emotional savings account, just remember: the things you deserve are waiting for you in escrow.

PS: pls upgrade to paid subscriber :)

PPS: only if you can.

PPPS: listening to Carly Simon is free