The Intern

by Dillon Khan

  Simple, but it was enough to kill the mood.

  ‘I’ve gotta go to the front door and get a mate in,’ I said abruptly. ‘Just got a text.’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ she offered.

  ‘Oh … er, you’d better find Max. Those execs could get you more work.’ She looked slightly rejected so I quickly smoothed things over. ‘Keep an eye on your phone and I’ll call you later to carry this on … I mean the dancing,’ I said, fumbling and tumbling over my words and legs as I stumbled off.

  I managed to find James III and escaped with him to the dance room as Rude Boy Rupert played his set. As I raved, James III tried to convince the bar staff dressed as Madonna and Beyoncé Knowles to stop serving drinks and come powder their noses in the toilets.

  I didn’t need a box of Jaffa Cakes to make friends any more as I hung out confidently with people from different departments. I even looked out for the Doc to pitch an idea I’d had: let the interns run The Beat and make a reality TV show about it. Fortunately for my future employment status, I couldn’t find him. While James III and I were sidetracked, the girls were speaking to the people who counted. But I was relaxed – I’d had a shout-out from the Doc and was in pole position!

  I was checking the time on my watch and correlating it with how hammered everyone was getting. At two thirty a.m. the head of HR began to dirty dance with the head of Marketing. By three a.m. all the presenters were in a circle doing the can-can to ‘Come On Eileen’ by Dexys Midnight Runners. And at three thirty a.m. the head of Music Scheduling ran around the party screaming ‘Tube’ (Totally Unnecessary Boob Examination) at the top of his voice when squeezing an unsuspecting bloke’s nipples.

  That signalled it was time for me to leave; I still had the script to write for tomorrow morning’s recording. As I sat in the rear of the Uncle Lee on the way back to the office, I started reading the stream of text bulletins from Sam, the only non-drinker in the company I knew, and therefore a reliable spy on the night’s goings-on.

  Max left with 2 Norwegian girls!

  James III trying 2 take waitresses home!!

  Head of T.A.D. punched head of Music Scheduling!!!

  Milly getting Stuey to strip!

  Cara kissing Monica from The Beat Italy!!!

  The DOC is DJ’ing!!

  All the presenters are singing karaoke with Darth Vader!!

  I sunk my head back into the headrest, half dozing off, reflecting on the night. A smile crossed my face. Perfect days didn’t come by for me very often. In fact the last time I could remember was when I was eight: I got a gold star for writing the best story in my class and read it out in morning assembly; at lunch I had seconds of my favourite dessert, chocolate cake and chocolate custard; in the afternoon I won a trophy for the sprint relay race at sports day; that evening Mum made the most perfect spag bol; at day’s end I went to sleep dreaming I kissed my teacher, Miss Dawson! Today wasn’t quite there, but it was pretty damn close.

  23

  Tom’s Diner

  The building was fairly empty, and not just because it was a Monday morning. Even Max hadn’t come in yet to bark orders at me, instead sending a text to say he’d gone to give blood. Summer holidays meant people were taking time off or working at the music festivals. Only Sonya and I were in the office while the other interns were either in edits or on shoots. I had just returned from T.A.D. where I’d seen the new Madonna and Ali G video.

  Sonya sat with her feet on her chair and knees tucked into her chest. ‘How was your weekend?’ she asked, while nibbling on a Danish pastry like a mouse.

  ‘OK,’ I said, staring at the computer screen. I was feeling tired before the week had even begun.

  For the past fifteen minutes she’d been downloading music from Napster. Now bored, she turned her attention to me. ‘C’mon, gimme some gossip,’ she pleaded, bribing me with half of her Danish. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Nothing much,’ I said, continuing to read emails.

  ‘Jay?’ she said inquisitively.

  I kept looking at the screen.

  ‘Ja-a-ay?’ she repeated in the teasing tone of an annoying younger sister.

  ‘Naaa-thing,’ I replied, mimicking her.

  ‘Can you lot keep the noise down? I just got an email from Ad Sales saying it’s already too loud for a Monday morning.’ It was Terry ‘the Minister’ Perkins, the head of Production. Everyone turned the volume levels down on their TVs. Satisfied, he turned and walked away, the cue for everyone to grab their remote control and put the volume back up again.

  Sonya eventually convinced me to talk rather than research.

  ‘I don’t know if working here and being in a relationship is possible,’ I confessed.

  ‘Tough weekend?’ she asked.

  ‘You could say that. I had an interview with Mary J. Blige on Saturday morning that overran thanks to flight delays and traffic. I was late to meet Sophia – by six hours – for a barbecue that started at one o’clock. She was seriously pissed off.’

  ‘Rightly so. If you were my boyfriend I’d be the same,’ said Sonya.

  ‘Even though it wasn’t my fault?’

  She laughed. ‘You’re a man, it’s always your fault.’

  ‘Anyway, we eventually got to this barbecue in Richmond at her friend Mia’s place. Her parents were away on holiday. I was surrounded by Sophia’s university mates and, oh dear Lord, I exaggerate not, how boring.’ There was something about gossiping with girls that made men sound extremely camp. Or maybe it was just me. ‘All they spoke about was “university this, university that”. When they did engage with me it was the same questions: “Which famous people have you met?” and “Can you get me some concert tickets?” Then they annoyingly kept calling me “Mr Beat”. No, you muppets, J-A-Y. I’m not a music channel.’

  Sonya smiled. ‘Well, at least she has some mates to hang round with while you’re working dusk till dawn.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I met her “mate” Simon again. Twat! He blatantly fancies her.’

  ‘Really, how could you tell?’ she asked.

  ‘A man can smell another man from a mile off.’

  She smiled. ‘That’s a little bit gay and a lot Neanderthal, isn’t it?’

  I couldn’t see the funny side. ‘Trust me, when you pick up on a vibe, you go with your instinct.’

  ‘Did you talk to her about it?’

  ‘Yes, but she just turned it back on me, saying she had more reason not to trust me, seeing as I was the one surrounded by pretty women at celeb parties.’

  ‘Fair point.’

  ‘All she had to do was just reassure me with a few choice words. But she didn’t. The way she reacted was so over the top it just roused my suspicions. So then, just as we were about to get into the discussion, my phone rang. Max was calling to say the Mary J. Blige interview tapes had gone missing from the dubbing department.’

  It was a typical scene for an intern. As the producer, Max was being harangued by all the calls but wanted me to fix it. The guy on the morning shift had left work and his mobile was off. Max kept sending me texts every half-hour asking for an update. At one point I had Max on my phone on one ear while I was talking to the dubbing department on Sophia’s phone on the other.

  ‘I bet that pissed her off even more,’ said Sonya sympathetically.

  ‘Yeah, but what could I do?’

  ‘So what happened with the tapes?’

  Even the memory of it exhausted me. ‘Eventually they track down the guy and get the tapes.’

  ‘What a needless headache.’

  ‘Then I couldn’t get into the spirit of things and drink because I was driving. And Sophia and her mates just got more and more hammered and immature.’

  ‘Clearly you’ve forgotten what it’s like to be a student, grandpa.’

  ‘It gets worse,’ I warned her.

  Her eyes lit up. ‘Juicy. Come on
, tell me.’

  ‘Well … I had her phone from when I was trying to find the tapes for Max and I … accidentally read her texts,’ I said.

  ‘What? Jay! Accidentally!’ she exclaimed. ‘Really?’

  ‘Sure, like you wouldn’t if you were suspicious,’ I challenged her, purely to hide my embarrassment. ‘Anyway, as I thought, there were lots of texts from that Simon guy,’ I said, justified.

  ‘So? He’s her friend,’ Sonya defended Sophia.

  ‘Hard to believe when I saw they were flirting on text. Flirting.’

  ‘Jay, are you sure your bias didn’t convince you to read more into it?’

  ‘Don’t worry, I gave her the benefit of the doubt and said nothing. It was getting late and I just wanted to leave. But Sophia was drunk and wanted to stay. We eventually started arguing about that too. And that’s when it happened.’

  ‘What?’ she asked, staring at me in anticipation.

  ‘I shoved –’

  ‘Sophia?!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘No, no – Simon,’ I corrected her. ‘What do you take me for?’

  She laughed at jumping the gun. ‘Sorry.’

  I explained how Mr Slimy had come to Sophia’s rescue as we argued and I got pissed off. The benefit of the doubt ran out and it ended up being like The Jerry Springer Show, with two guys pushing each other and a girl in the middle trying to stop it.

  ‘We argued all the way home about me not being by her side all night, my “interfering fucking job” and her “poor mate” Simon. That pissed me off more so I asked about the messages on her phone. Then she got angrier that I’d invaded her privacy.’

  ‘Well, you did!’ said Sonya.

  ‘So she grabbed my phone and found some texts from Isabel.’

  ‘The presenter?’

  ‘We’re just work colleagues!’ I protested.

  ‘Like Simon and Sophia are just uni mates?’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘So how did it finish?’

  ‘With nightmares,’ I replied. ‘I dreamt about missing tapes and Max calling. I kept waking up thinking I was late for the studio.’

  ‘You’re dreaming about your boss?’

  ‘Seriously, I’m getting totally absorbed by this job. I can’t seem to get the work and play balance right.’

  ‘Maybe Sophia’s right about this job being an interference,’ she said.

  ‘I just think I’m not meeting normal people any more. It’s only everyone in the entertainment and media world. Other people, like Sophia’s uni friends, are –’

  ‘What?’ Sonya interrupted.

  ‘– boring in comparison?’ I said, slowly feeling I’d said something wrong.

  Sonya looked shocked but tried to empathize. ‘Look, it’s tough; no one’s finding this internship easy. I’m working nearly every other weekend preparing the shows and specials. I haven’t seen my family in ages and I don’t have time for any kind of relationship. I don’t know how you do it.’

  ‘Problem is I don’t think I am doing it,’ I said, realizing the truth.

  ‘What’s more important to you?’ she asked.

  I stayed silent for a while, taking in the question. Shouldn’t I have said Sophia instantly? I didn’t. The silence became deafening before Sonya interjected.

  ‘So, how did you leave it with Sophia?’

  ‘She’s just not getting things. It’s the first time we’ve hit a major patch of turbulence. I saw a different side to her, a very difficult and slightly nasty side.’

  She paused. ‘Seems like it’s time to deal with the reality and not just the fantasy. My mum always told me, some things in life are a blessing for you to keep forever. Some are short term and mere lessons to learn from.’

  I hesitated before saying, ‘Are you talking about Sophia or The Beat?’ I laughed.

  ‘What do you think?’ She smiled.

  Just then the Minister came back. ‘I can still hear you lot!’ he bellowed.

  Us lot reached for our remotes once again, and as he stalked off a few people pointed theirs at his back. Shame they couldn’t mute him.

  24

  Yeha-Noha

  The stresses at work were piling up and I needed time to chill out. A week had passed but Sophia and I were still annoyed with each other about the barbecue. Isabel was the antidote, our friendship the antithesis to my relationship with my girlfriend. She’d been inviting me round for dinner for weeks and I decided it would be rude to keep saying no, so I went to her place in Hackney. I wanted to tell Sophia I was going but it would have lead to the Spanish Inquisition and I wasn’t in the mood. Besides if she had a ‘friendship’ with Simon why couldn’t I have one with Isabel?

  ‘OK, so what are you making?’ I said, standing over the kitchen counter as my stomach grumbled.

  ‘We are making roasted peppers with mushrooms and feta for starters, mint lamb chops and potatoes for main and a pear and blackberry crumble for dessert,’ Isabel said.

  ‘What? I thought you were cooking. So you’ve got me here under false pretences,’ I joked.

  ‘You could say that,’ she replied with a wry smile.

  I wasn’t much of a cook but was happy to be the intern in the kitchen too. I sliced and chopped while Isabel marinated the lamb chops in mint sauce. My Name Is Joe played in the background as we prepared the food, drank some wine and talked about a variety of subjects, finally landing on work.

  ‘So how’s The Beat treating you?’ she asked.

  ‘You mean Max? I’m running around like his bitch. How’s The Beat treating you?’ I said with a cheeky grin.

  ‘You mean Max?’ she laughed back. ‘I wouldn’t say I’m his … lap dog!’

  The combination of an empty stomach and wine brought out my forthright side. ‘So what are you two, then?’

  ‘Just friends.’

  I probed again. ‘Just friends like after the party in Middlesbrough?’

  ‘Why, what’s he said?’ she asked, unflustered by my insinuation.

  ‘Nothing, I just assumed …’

  ‘Well, don’t assume, or you make an ass out of u and me!’ she retorted, slightly tipsy.

  Isabel began to cook the mushrooms and chives in olive oil as I drained and sliced the boiled potatoes. The kitchen was starting to smell really nice as the conversation simmered alongside the meal.

  ‘So tell me, how did you get the reporter’s job?’ I asked, over-emphasizing for effect.

  ‘You were there,’ she said.

  ‘I suppose you were the most natural,’ I admitted, remembering the day.

  ‘Well, there you go!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘So you didn’t know Max from before?’

  Still unfazed she said, ‘I’d met him at some music industry party a few weeks before and he asked me to audition.’

  ‘So there was no “casting couch”?’ I made speech marks in the air. I’d always assumed the myth was true about how actors, singers and the like got ahead behind the scenes.

  ‘Jay! No! There definitely wasn’t,’ she said with a look of horror on her face.

  I poured the mushroom mix over the halved peppers, crumbled the feta cheese on top and placed the dish in the oven as Isabel began to sear the lamb chops and potato slices on a griddle pan. As we set the table for dinner I continued my interrogation, my curiosity unsatisfied.

  ‘So nothing happened?’ I asked, laying out the cutlery.

  ‘People will think what they think. If I put myself about a certain way, then I’m not helping my cause. But if I’m friendly with people, they’ll help me.’

  ‘How friendly? Flirting?’ I asked.

  ‘Talking to people isn’t a crime. If they like you and you can work together, then all the better. You’ve got to develop relationships with people at work and hopefully they like you enough to give you a bump up when the time comes,’ she said.

  I shook my head. ‘I’m no
good at it. I’m self-conscious that I look fake and tactical.’

  ‘Everyone does it, Jay. How do you expect to get ahead – by just being good at your job?’ she reasoned, like she was a self-help guru.

  ‘Well, I need to do something. There’s not even two months left of the internship and there’s one permanent job available at the end of it.’

  ‘Like you told me when I came to the audition, just be yourself,’ she said.

  ‘That’s what worries me,’ I said, laughing.

  ‘Well, your advice to me was spot on.’

  I sat down as Isabel served up. I was dying to eat as I needed some food to go with the wine that was sloshing around my stomach.

  ‘To friends,’ I said, raising a toast boisterously. ‘So,’ I added, more quietly, ‘are we friends or are you friendly with me?’

  She laughed and gave me a look I couldn’t figure out as she sipped her wine.

  Time flew by as we finished dinner and dessert and moved to the sofa for more wine. Isabel was fun to talk to and, ironically, the more of a friend she became, the more I found myself attracted to her. She just … got it. I was enjoying her company and I couldn’t help thinking, Why can’t Sophia be chilled out like this?

  At the end of another laughing fit I looked at the time. ‘Dude, I’m getting very drunk.’

  ‘Getting?’ she asked before giggling.

  ‘OK, I won’t lie, I’m already there.’ I looked at my watch again. ‘The hands are telling me it’s late. I gotta head out soon, I’ve got work in the morning.’ I had sunk deeply and comfortably into the sofa and felt unable to move.

  ‘You want to walk through Hackney at this time of night?’

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ I said, although I was suddenly worried. Weaving around the streets might be as good as wearing a sign saying ‘Mug me’.

  ‘You can sleep on the couch if you like,’ she offered.

  ‘I knew you got me here under false pretences,’ I joked. I fumbled around for my phone to call the fourth emergency service – Uncle Lee.

  Isabel smiled, not saying anything, as usual, but pouring me another glass.