Signing The Deal

Is there anything more splendid that the sight of a FedEx Van man knocking on one's door with a Hollywood Contract to sign. Well if there is, I don't know what it is. All the lonely days and nights writing in bed about girls and boys at boarding school, and then someone in Los Angeles "loves it"! It is too, too, bon for words.
My Lady's Gentleman read each word carefully (he's a very slow but thorough reader) before presenting the pages to me for signature.
He loves saying, "sign here" which I'm sure isn't healthy.
As I added my scrawl to the 4 copies I regreted not using a smarter pen. Off to Bond Street toute de suite! I must stop going to Cartier every time I feel depressed or happy. I blame the staff at Cartier - no one in London admires my jewels quite as much as them. They are tres, tres complimentary and make one feel that one has exquisite taste. Which one does apart from on Sundays when I go a bit skew wiffy taste wise.
'Cartier is becoming a nasty habit I must break,' I told my PA hoping he'd say something supportive like, 'Nonsense, you deserve it.'
But he didn't. He wrote down in his 'Things Tyne Must Stop Doing' pad. I bought it so he could write nice useful things in it like Tyne must stop marrying unsuitable men but he never did (he being one of the most unsuitable men that ever walked god's good earth. I wish I'd never had Smythsons inscribe the wretched thing.
As I swept through the doors of Cartier feeling all va-va-va-voomish, he passed me a note which, read. 'Tyne must stop going to Cartier - she can't afford it.She's a hard working author not a kept woman!' Which I would be by the way if I didn't spend all my money keeping him.
I must find a new Ladies Gentleman. In the meantime I am back writing in bed, this time its a book about the mayhem of relationships in our brave new on line world of Google, Facebook, Wikipedia and You Tube.