Mark has found an object for fury, the huge Diners Club International sign that hangs about his signing table. This is not easily solved. Mark is told it cannot be covered or removed.
There is good news: although A Sorta Fairytale stalled in the national and local book charts, Simply Divine is straight back in the national chart at #265, an actual high placing for the first week. Security at the store is tight. Everybody is talking about a recent author signing where the crowd was so intense that the author had to be rescued by helicopter ('I don’t think that will happen today,' says the manager smiling at Mark. 'No shit, really?' replies Mark) but a crowd of over two hundred is as orderly as it is varied. It's a cross section of what could be Marks core US audience: arty white college preps, Asians, Latinos, a few gays. They all bring different objects to be signed: a first edition of Trumpets, a book promotional stand which appears to be unauthorized and which Mark has never seen before, a huge Simply Divine store display. One person brings a German edition of Jig Of Life and demands he has a photograph taken.
'Shall I sign it for you?' Mark asks.
'No,' comes the reply.
The informal signing session lasts an hour.
Downtown LA is odd enough. We are at the Mayan Theatre. The auditorium is overwhelming: flanking the stage are enormous fragments or primitive walk that are made of tremendous cut stones. On either side of the stage is an image of a distinctly cruel Mayan God looking down on the auditorium impatiently. Built in 1927, in the same flourish that created the infamous Grumman's Chinese Theatre on Hollywood Boulevard, the Mayan has seen hard times until recently reincarnated as a fashionable night club, a purpose for which its hallucinatory interior provides the perfect setting. There are ghosts here. On either side or the stage, male and female go-go dancers gyrate above a powerful white light: the railed off dance floor area in front of the stage is packed with the curious and the Fanatical. Marks American publishers has decided to hold an informal press publicity conference here to create excitement about his catalogue of books and forthcoming publications. There are drinks, more food and a DJ employed going by the artful name of DJ Frankie Banker.
Whatever records he is playing it has to be said the minimal beats sound fantastic in this cavernous temple.
When I arrive, Mark is standing on stage, filming anyone who passes with a video camera someone has given him, and chatting about soap operas. He wanders back to the dressing room, where he continues on a similar theme, debating a recent aborted marriage on a UK programme.
'I don't like her at all,' he says. 'She pushed him into it too quick.'
Later he reclines on the sofa, getting ready.
'Here we go again,' he sighs. 'Welcome to the non-theatrical book tour, only six costume changes.'
There is a knock on the door.
It is an old friend of Rob’s called Rosemary. 'Rosemary,' Rob explains, 'used to be in a pop group called Dusted.'
Mark mimes the word, who in my direction.
A handful of other friends of Rob will turn up as the evening progresses, including both his sisters. The meet and greet has begun. Mark is casually working the vast space dressed in a huge coat bought by Rob on a trip to notorious Venice Beach and given to Mark, a huge baggy thing, with Fido Dido designs all over it. With his super short haircut, it looks amazing. The night is a big success.
Mark is set to appear on Media Shelf Corner. We are all at Nomo’s studios, supposedly rehearsing. Mark was complaining about the radio in his taxi on the way here ('I was listening to some urban music show. It was totally moronic, a bit like listening to me over dinner...') and is now tucking into a plate of tomatoes, eggs, beans and fried bread.
'That's literally fried bread,' exclaims Charlie, a production assistant who appears vaguely horrified.
'I like fried bread,' says Mark, defiantly.
Some music plays, and some drummers boom loudly. There are also dancers rehearsing in a separate studio next door. Mark sings along to the records backing track.
'I can't hear,' he complains. 'This is meant to be a conversational vocal.'
He then sits and reads an assortment of English newspapers, occasionally laughing out loud. He doesn't really need to rehearse because he's only being interviewed although he claims not to have a clue what he is going to say.
'I've forgotten what the book is all about,' he says. 'I'd better start re-reading it again.' Later we all meet up at River studios, where Media Shelf Corner is filmed. Mark is joined by Jill from his publishers, his personal security guard Anthony laid on by Rob (also here today) and his assistant Andrew.
'It’s a very American thing to have security by all accounts. He’s big, muscular and tattooed so he got the job. If truth be told I just looked at his pecs and hired him.'
Anthony says nothing but smiles.
Mark is a little tired. He didn't get to bed until 04.30, after an evening which started at some brassiere, and subsequently took in several venues and encounters. We all sit in the cafe, eating, waiting to be called.
'So do you think children should be canned at school?' Mark asks Jill. It's a topic which is currently in the news.
'When I was at primary school I seem to recall the slipper was used once or twice,' he says. 'When I was about seven, someone had the slipper by a teacher for making too much noise in the school playground.'
'Too much noise in the playground!' laughs Rob.
'Two of them had to queue up,' Mark continues. 'All the girls were crying. It was like a concentration camp. They had to bend over.'
'I've never been canned,' says Rob.
Mark sings along to the cafe background music, George Michael's Jesus To A Child, under his breath.
'Oooh, it's a long record, this, isn't it?' he says. 'I always think, can't they speed it up a bit? Just as you think it's going to finish it's, oh no, he's going round again.'
Rob worries about what to give his brother, Tim, for his birthday tomorrow. He wants to get one of those Traffic Master computers for his car. Someone gets Mark to sign various cheques and legal documents. Rob fetches some magazines and chocolate bars from the shop across the road. Jill hands out promotional copies of Simply Divine to various people (they look like the commercial book except that the paper is grey
and the cover is purple) and the people who now got the book hold them up for Mark to sign.
'Oh, how divine they look,' Mark says. 'I had very strange dreams last night about someone I went to school with. I was walking down this street in Acton, London. It went on for hours. I couldn't get a train, I couldn't get a taxi, I was stuck in Acton Central. It was sort of nightmarish. There were dogs everywhere. I was scared I was going to get bitten.'
Another writer walks past. He's promoting his debut book, on another programme 'He's the new you,' Rob says to Mark. 'He's the new, updated, better-looking version of you.'
'Charming, still, it had to happen sometime,' says Mark.
Finally, the television company is ready for Mark to rehearse his interview. They run through various questions on stage, over and over, while the camera crew works out their shots. Then they do the same with Mark sitting on the sofa interacting with the other guests. Mark worries aloud that they'll end up broadcasting some of the rehearsal. He wouldn't be happy with that. His green Stussy T-shirt is creased. A technician asks Mark if the monitors are loud enough, and whether the balance in them is right, as though Mark is a musician.
'I’m doing all this work,' sighs Mark, 'and they get the name of the book wrong, Simplest Divine apparently.'
He is not entirely serious.
'The band look great, don't they?' says Andrew.
'Fantastic,' Mark agrees. 'I don't know why they haven't got a recording contract.'
'I'd like to be in a band,' says Andrew. 'It looks like such good fun. I can see you in a band.'
He directs this to Mark.
'I have made a record you know,' Mark bleats.
'What are you wearing?' Jill asks Mark.
'I don't know,' he says. 'It depends who I want to be.'
The rehearsal takes forever but finally, it's over.
In the dressing room.
'It's not very big, is it?' says Mark, 'and there's not a bed for a start.'
Mark reads a multiple choice quiz about himself in the latest Media Shelf Corner magazine called Bigger And Better
He tries to answer the questions.
'It's not too difficult,' he announces, though he stumbles over the one question about who edited his first book (eventually he gets it, 'Oh, I did.') He doesn't know how many number one books he has had on the Independent chart. 'No idea' he says, and is irritated by the description of A Sorta Fairytale as his enigmatic release. He then absentmindedly browses through the rest of the magazine.
'Oh my goodness', he says without revealing what it was that surprised him.
The next day.
Mark arrives, as scheduled, at 14h00 with Anthony alongside again.
'I had a dream last night that I had three pairs of socks and I couldn't find a matching pair, and someone was banging on the door, saying 'you've got to go'. It's an anxiety dream. I'm worried about the interview.'
He suddenly looks annoyed; it's because he forgot to ask someone to videotape the show.
'Videotape?' says Andrew. 'Are we in 1990?'
Mark is presented with a cheque; it would appear all performers must be paid a minimum performance fee for appearing on television. Mark looks at cheque, tuts and then hands it to Andrew to deal with. We all go into the upstairs bar area to rehearse his interview again with the presenter Nikki. Before Mark is announced she has a good shout at the people who work on the show because they're not applauding loud enough. Mark doesn’t actually run through the interview now, they simply take their seats and Nikki just gives him a pep talk about it.
'We'll talk for eight minutes about anything you damn well like...' - a cheeky laugh -
'...well, anything that I damn well like.'
'Quite,' replies Mark dryly.
Afterwards, in the dressing room.
'She thought it was all because of me that I am doing it. I said, no, au contraries...'
'Well, isn't that right?' Andrew asks. 'It wasn't my idea to let you do the show. I was always dead against it from day one.'
'Were you?' says Mark.
'Yes. I was always the one who said, no way are you doing this because it’s not high profile enough, you can tell that with what they are paying you.'
'Why did I end up doing it?' asks Mark, clearly puzzled.
Andrew leaves the appropriate comic pause before saying, 'poor book sales?'
'There you go,' says Mark. 'There is that, although I am an icon you know.'
He begins to get nervous.
'I have to have a drink before we do this', says Mark. 'I might have to have a Valium.' He is joking.
'I hope I am not boring,' he frets, 'I’m crap at interviews.' He licks at a lollipop.
'I haven't had a lollipop in ages. They're really nice.'
Everyone discusses how he'll behave as he walks up the gangway to the bar, the audience below them. He has been asked to wave.
'I wouldn't wave,' says Andrew.
'Okay,' says Mark. 'I won't wave, I'd just be snooty.'
'It doesn't look good, waving,' Rob continues.
It is suggested to Mark that he should just look natural.
'There's nothing remotely natural,' says Mark, 'about doing a live TV show.' He sighs.
'I just don't want to be too ingratiating. That's my big worry.'
Rob sniggers.
'And I don't want you,' he says to Mark, 'to be too silent.'
'Well, I'm not really in the mood for talking.'
Rob tries to write his brother's birthday card. (He's bought him the Traffic Master.) 'I can never think of anything else to say apart from Happy Birthday,' he says.
He tries to think of something funny.
'Maybe I could ask Nikki for a bit of help.'
Mark browses through the tabloids.
'Well, I think his hair has finally gone,' he says.
'It'll be back,' mutters Rob.
Mark slips into his speckled, silvery, glistening jumper.
Rob approves.
'Mark is reunited with his Issy Miyake,' he says.
Mark inspects his trousers. They have newsprint on them from the tabloids.
'I can't go on,' he bluffs.
Lynne applies his make-up and he worries that he's getting a spot. She wants to know if he's been plucking his eyebrows.
'I occasionally pull out one,' he concedes.
Mark reads out, from a newspaper page, his billing. 'Guests include Marcus Binimore,' he hoots. 'Right! Well, in that case I'm not doing the interview.'
A man comes in with some contracts for them to sign.
'I’ve got to read them first,' says Mark. He begins reading one. 'Oh, I can't be bothered... '
He just signs it.
A man walks past the dressing room door.
'Ugly bloke's just walked past,' notes Mark.
'I don't think the ugly bloke is that ugly,' says Rob. The show has now started.
Eventually Mark is called through, and is introduced in the bar by an actress.
'Our next guest is a British writer famous for writing and publishing two recent collections. He stands, he frowns, he writes, but rarely does he talk. That's why it's such a coup to welcome tonight the magnificent, the precise, the mighty...'
After which Mark makes his entrance and despite what he said previously, gives a quick wave, walks down and hugs and air kisses the presenter and other guests. It is seen as a tad camp. The interview begins with Mark denying that it was him who was previously reluctant to come on the show, and then explaining his desire to be here. A few minutes later they are finished. Nikki pops back into the dressing room.
'We've faded you a bit, the end thirty seconds,' she apologies.
'No!' shouts Mark melodramatically, 'the best bit as well.'
'Is that alright?' she asks.
'That was great, thank you.'
'I know it's a pig for you to promote... '
'No...' Mark interjects. 'You don't know whether to feel shameless or...'
'Moral-less?' says Nikki.
Champagne flows in the traditional manner.
Mark thinks up a new television show where guests are hooked up to a lie detector machine and asked questions.
'No one would do it,' counsels Rob.
'Oh, I don’t know,' Mark cattily replies.
Other people turn up and we all join the drinkers in the bar for a while. Mark has a quick chat with the director, and then goes out for a celebratory dinner at a restaurant called Julies.
Later at the hotel we manage to watch the show.
'I thought I sounded dreadful,' says Mark. 'I can't watch it.' But he does and thought the interview went well enough.
'It was marvellous,' says Mark at the end, 'It was another pinnacle.'
'You waved then?' growls Anthony.
'It speaks at last,' says Mark.
Anthony grins.