Read Online Love, Nina by Nina Stibbe - Free Book Online Page B

area and sees the butler’s muddy boots and has a sexual awakening and rejects her father. Something along those lines (Swedish).
    I couldn’t help laughing a bit.
    Amanda: It’s not meant to be a comedy.
    Me: It’s nerves.
    AB: Come on, Nina, be fair.
    Then she did another scene from a different play. During her lines she fiddled with a flower for added drama.
    Amanda: I’m going to pull the petals off this flower to show I’m in turmoil.
    AB: Right-o!
    She was a woman on drugs whose son confronts her and calls her a “dope fiend.” I was reading the son’s lines and I had to say, “You’re a dope fiend,” and then she has to go off on a rant. It was strange having Amanda in the kitchen ripping the flower and shouting at me in an American accent and AB sipping his chamomile tea.
    Because it was a Tuesday, MK came home early and she stood on the stairs for a moment, listening. I could see her feet. I called her to come down.
    MK: What’s going on?
    Me: Amanda is acting for AB.
    MK: Why?
    Me: She wants tips for her audition.
    MK: Oh, I see. Here’s one, stop shredding that flower.
    Amanda: It’s a prop.
    MK: It’s not working.
    I’ve no idea how good Amanda was at the acting, but AB was encouraging anyway, and said he’d write a reference for drama school (saying what an asset she’d be with her enthusiasm and ideas). She’s going to the audition soon. So we’ll see. She’s decided to ditch the flower.
    Once all the fuss has died down, I’ll show AB ch. 1 of my novel.
    Talking of dope fiends…Mary-Kay has asked me if I can give her “a bit of grass.” She meant cannabis. I was shocked and said it wasn’t my thing. God, Vic, I don’t want her turning into a dope fiend, things are going well for her, with the LRB and everything. I hope she doesn’t go down that road—imagine her and AB puffing away on a bong every night.
    It might be the influence of X (the crab man). I think he might be a bit druggy.
    Love, Nina
    *  *  *
    Dear Vic,
    Still working on my semiautobiographical novel. Not as easy as I thought. The problem is all the explaining you have to do. Your story gets overwhelmed with detail. Stupidly told Pippa that I was trying to write a novel and now she always asks, “How’s the novel going?” with an expression of boredom on her face. And sometimes says, “What’s it about?” or “Am I in it?”
    Pippa: I’ll never write a novel or play.
    Me: Most people won’t.
    Pippa: No, but I won’t on principle.
    Me: Why?
    Pippa: Because of what happened to my friend Tony.
    Me: What happened to him?
    Pippa: He wrote an amazing TV series and sent it to the BBC and they sent a letter back saying thanks, but no thanks.
    Me: You have to learn to accept rejection.
    Pippa: Yeah, but then, a couple of years later, the very thing he sent in came on the telly.
    Me: What was it?
    Pippa: Taxi.
    I didn’t ask who Tony was. Couldn’t be bothered.
    You have to have a very clear idea of the end before you start and then work toward that end. Discussing it with Will (who is always working on a novel):
    Will: I just write and see what occurs.
    Me: You should have a plan.
    Will: My plan is to see what occurs.
    Me: But a reader will look for clues and signals.
    Will: I am the reader.
    Love, Nina
    *  *  *
    Dear Vic,
    Both Mary-Kay and Nunney believe there’s no such thing as an accident when bad things happen (accidentally) to me, i.e. my toothbrush slipping and cutting my gum. Told Nunney (I’d cut my gum by accident) and he said, “No such thing as an accident.” Meaning I injured my own gum deliberately. Presumably so I could tell him and get some attention and sympathy.
    Told MK.
    Me: Nunney says there’s no such thing as an accident.
    MK: I’m aware of that idea.
    Me: Do you think there’s no such thing as an accident?
    MK: Sort