Back in London, thank God. I get stir crazy if I’m in the country for too long – I need proper coffee and the smell of car exhausts to keep sane.
I am producing a movie at the moment with a BIG Hollywood name who has been out of the spotlight for quite some time. To say that he has “issues”would be an understatement – the guy makes Charlie Sheen look like a choir boy. But he is very talented and if I can get it right, this project could be a smash.
The only problem is nursing this guy onto a set and getting the job done. We hired a professional “associate”to come over from LA to make sure he didn’t get into too much trouble, but the guy overdosed on the third day and was flown back to the US. This left my potential bank balance alone in his hotel.
Victoria told me that I had to move in with him until the project was over. I was not keen on this idea, but I knew she was right. I told the guy that I was moving in and he went crazy and started throwing stuff around his room and claiming that I was a “fag” and “trying to get my hands on his cojones”. I told him that this was the least of his worries and that I just wanted to make sure everything went smoothly until the shoot.
We agreed that I would take the room next door to his with a connecting door that would be closed, but not locked. The first night he rips off a bottle of brandy and ends up setting fire to the bed. I’m going to end up setting fire to myself if this carries on… Cooper Out.
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