The Intern

by Dillon Khan

  25

  God is A Dj

  Mid August saw me leave London and head out to what had become the unofficial holiday camp for the company: Ibiza, a.k.a. the debauched ‘Gomorrah of the Mediterranean’. Each department at The Beat actually started the year with a line in their budget for the party island. Everyone had a well-rehearsed ‘business reason’ for going out there at least once during summer. The only person I could think of who got left out was poor Noah in the post room.

  Stuey had set up shop in a villa for the summer season, filming news bulletins and specials from a different club each week. Max and I had flown in to shoot an interview with Kylie Minogue and a Top Ten countdown, with Sam and Cara as extra hands.

  Our Easyjet flight was virtually a party plane, filled with excitable kids, us included. We landed on Saturday morning and filmed Kylie, who was promoting her new single ‘Spinning Around’. By midday we were enjoying downtime at a secluded playa catching some mid-August sun. With my top off I noticed that even though I wasn’t hitting the gym, carrying filming equipment through the busy streets of W11 was making my arms Hulk-like.

  Come the evening, all roads led to the best club on the island, Pacha, with rumours that George Clooney had sailed in from St Tropez to attend. Stuey had promised us a VIP experience – without having to lug a camera and mic cube to get us in. From his years of filming he knew almost everyone, from club owners and managers to the DJs and dance acts. But it also helped a little when ‘someone’ started a rumour that his cousin owned Ministry of Sound.

  ‘So why does The Beat go goo-goo-ga-ga for Ibiza?’ I asked Stuey as he drove us on the C-733 road towards Ibiza Town.

  ‘Why not any other island in Europe? Kos, Crete, Tenerife?’ added Cara.

  ‘The footballer-infested Ayia Napa?’ added Sam.

  None of us had been to Ibiza before and although we’d heard the hype, we were yet to see it for ourselves.

  ‘Homies, what Paris is to romance, Ibiza is to partying,’ replied Stuey. ‘Everyone who’s anyone comes here for the annual pilgrimage. For artists, if their song breaks on this tiny island, it will break all over Europe.’

  Fiddling with the stereo in the front, Max asked, ‘Who have you caught up with from the UK party pack?’

  ‘Noel Gallagher’s villa’s in the south and Jade Jagger’s hidden retreat is in the north.’ Stuey reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a personal invite from her on a purple card that simply read: ‘Party, my place, Ibiza, join the commune.’

  Just a few days before I’d left, I’d emailed Pritz about the trip, hoping to make him a bit jealous. Instead he outflanked me, booking a flight and hotel room in between a trade of Apple shares, and we’d arranged to meet inside the club. Max had met Pritz several times now and thought he was obnoxious, arrogant and rude. Just his kind of guy.

  Arriving at Pacha, we were escorted straight to the owner’s table where the drinks continued. Max and Stuey weren’t dancing much but in a huddle most of the time with the club owner and then the mega rich he introduced them to. Their combined monthly wages couldn’t have paid for a table with all those drinks. But dressed in linen like Crockett and Tubbs from Miami Vice, with cigars in their mouths, they played the part.

  I searched the club for Pritz – among all the good-looking people I guessed he’d stick out like a sore thumb. The women were sexy as hell. During winter these same girls would be a six out of ten at best. But in Ibiza they added two points to their overall total with what was known as the ‘two-point tan’.

  I finally found Pritz on the dance floor in one of the smaller rooms, vertically dry-humping a confused-looking Italian girl to DJ Luck and MC Neat’s ‘With a Little Bit of Luck’. I grabbed him and we went back to the main room where a familiar face had joined the VIP table. It was Alison’s party promoter friend, Benny from Brussels. He was puffing a cigar with Stuey and Max, surrounded by an entourage of tall leggy Brazilian girls.

  This was the first time in ages that I’d felt happy and relaxed in a club. I was a normal punter again. I had begun to associate clubs with work and holding a bloody camera. Looking for places to shoot links, filming vox-pops and finding sexy people for dance montages. Being here was like remembering how to ride a bike – I could listen to the music and just enjoy it, rather than thinking about what album it was from or who did the remix.

  All my anxieties, from work to relationships, disappeared. It was nice to just follow the pied piper as he controlled the endorphins in my body. It was bliss hearing a heavy bassline, making a gun using my thumb and first two fingers and firing off a shot when the beat dropped. But even better was the sound of the next track being mixed in subtly and teasingly by Morillo, raising the urge to shout ‘tuuuuuune’ in anticipation. I mentally snapped the Kodak moment to look back on and help me remember this feeling. Mr Time was moving too fast and before I knew it, my internship would be over.

  I stood up to dance as the best sound system on the island sent colours streaming in different directions before me like an indoor fireworks display. I closed my eyes and tilted my head back to suck them into my nose, smelling them. Hands aloft in the air, the colours bristled past my fingertips like falling snow. As the euphoria built in the pit of my stomach, I gave it an escape route through my open mouth as I screamed. I stuck my tongue out to grab a taste. So this is Ibiza, I thought.

  We didn’t leave the VIP section until they threw us out at five a.m. The street outside was packed with people standing around, looking for the next party. Benny invited us back to the villa he was staying at, with his harem of hot women and rich friends, before we’d continue on to the early morning rave at a club called Space.

  ‘Right, so we’ll see you guys later at our villa,’ said Max, jumping into the Jeep with Stuey and some hot-looking French twins they’d chatted up.

  ‘You’re not coming with us to Benny’s place?’ I asked, wondering why the team was splitting.

  He looked at the girls and then back to me. ‘Silly question, Jay,’ he said. ‘Here’s some money for a cab. You guys have fun and don’t come back too early!’

  26

  Mas Que Nada

  The four of us found space in the convoy of supercars that Benny and his friends drove at breakneck speed away from Pacha. Blur’s ‘Song 2’ provided the soundtrack for several hair-raising Hollywood-style overtaking manoeuvres before we arrived at the villa, which had a view across the island towards Ibiza Town and the rising sun. Pulling up on the gravel driveway, people piled out of the cars, which were still blaring music as engines shut down and cooled from the short race.

  We congregated around Benny’s Range Rover. ‘Everyone, this is everyone. Please introduce yourselves.’

  Cue handshakes and kisses all round. There were the four Brazilian girls (Georgia, Gisele, Adriana, Alessandra), one American (Jennifer) and two Russians (Irka and Maria). Benny’s other friends included the son of a shipping magnate (Yannis), whose villa we’d arrived at, a hedge-fund manager (Dutchy), an ambassador’s son (KD) and a cowboy hat-wearing playboy (Andrei).

  We walked through the plush garden, past the huge infinity swimming pool and beyond the smaller outhouses to the main building. We sat on sofas in the front room as Benny gave out further instructions. ‘OK, we have pizzas in the freezer and the drinks cabinet is in the corner by the stereo.’ He then plonked a bag of Daz on to the table, which the boys obligingly cut up for everyone to take.

  Pritz dived right in like Jacques Cousteau, followed closely by Cara. Sam was new to it and looked at me, slightly petrified, belying her usually hard exterior. She didn’t drink and I wasn’t entirely sure why. Religion? Dodgy liver? Recovering alcoholic? The gaggle of hot girls tried to persuade her to try some of the offerings on the table. She attempted to hold her ground but the peer pressure broke her. A round of applause from everyone finally coaxed her into it as Azzido Da Bass’s ‘Dooms Night’ blared from the speakers.
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br />   I had only tried cocaine once in my life, at university, and didn’t like it. Instead of relaxing and enjoying myself, I became panicked, images of Zammo from Grange Hill overdosing in the school toilets running through my head. So instead I asked Benny if he had any weed, and within moments he had rolled the most perfect-looking spliff and presented it to me dramatically like it was the key to the island! Roughly four minutes later I got the biggest hit I’d ever experienced. The room began to spin, my tongue became almost too heavy to talk with and my heart began to race.

  ‘What the fuck was in that? That’s not weed,’ I gasped, as though I had been given a Filet-o-Fish instead of a Big Mac.

  He laughed. ‘It’s Holland’s finest – with an added kick, of course.’

  I was totally freaking out. I was ready to send a postcard … from my trip! But I didn’t want to look like a rookie. The more I tried to relax, the more the voices in my head were telling me to get control of myself. The trance music that was playing didn’t help matters as it turned into dark colours bouncing off the walls. It tasted chalky. I opened a bottle of water, drank from it and then lay back like I was Snoop Dogg and monged out.

  For the next few hours I lost track of time as everyone partied, drank, snorted, laughed, chatted, smoked and ate while waiting for Space to open. I kept coming in and out of a state of awareness as Sérgio Mendes played on the stereo. One minute Pritz was telling me he was going to screw one of the tall leggy Brazilians, the next Cara was playing papers-scissors-stones with the American girl as Sam stumbled off towards one of the outhouses.

  I finally became compos mentis when I woke up on a lounger by the pool with my hand in a bowl of warm water. The villa and its surroundings were totally quiet and the music had been replaced by the sound of crickets. I reached for my phone to get my bearings. The time was eleven a.m. Time to round everyone up and head to Space.

  The front door of the villa was locked. The windows were shut and the curtains were drawn. They couldn’t have gone to Space as the cars were still there. My friends wouldn’t leave me, would they? As I listened closely at the door I could hear muffled voices and chill-out music playing. I went round to the side of the villa to peer through a gap in the curtains but the bright light outside was casting my reflection on to the glass. I placed my hands over my eyebrows to block out the sun and pressed up to the window for a better look.

  Yannis, Dutchy and KD were sat on the sofas snorting Daz and watching the American girl, Jennifer, and two of the Brazilians dancing on the coffee table. I couldn’t make out which two they were as it was so dark. Jennifer was down to just her G-string while the shorter of the Brazilians was still in her skirt and a half-unbuttoned blouse that revealed her bra.

  Jennifer was writhing as KD plied her with vodka straight from the bottle. Dutchy then placed some Daz on her breasts and tried to snort it before it fell to the floor. Yannis was filming everything on his camcorder with one hand and rummaging inside his trousers with the other.

  I blinked several times and opened my eyes wider, wondering if I was still tripping. Had I stumbled across a porno shoot? I hadn’t experienced any Eyes Wide Shut parties but I suppose this was the done thing in Ibiza. KD was trying to get the girl on the table to get down but she was hesitating. Her leggy compatriot helped to prop her up as KD then attempted to pour vodka into both their mouths. She pushed it away and began rubbing the side of her head and looked wobbly on the table. I got a clearer sight of her face for a moment and saw a look of total helplessness on it. Except it wasn’t Georgia, Gisele, Adriana or Alessandra. It was Sam.

  I quickly ran round to the front of the villa and banged as hard as I could on the door. The music stopped and I heard people moving around inside. My heart was pumping and my mind was trying to think what I should do next. It dawned on me that I didn’t know any of these people from Adam. What if it got violent?

  Yannis came to the door and opened it slightly, just showing a bit of his face. ‘Wassup, bro?’ He squinted as the bright light hit his eyes.

  ‘I just wanted to know if you guys were coming to Space now,’ I said, staying calm and trying to get in the door.

  He stood his ground. ‘You go ahead. Um, we’ll join you down there.’

  I put my hand on the door, pretending to lean on it, and tried to give it a push but his foot was jamming it closed. I paused as a plan emerged from my fuzzy grey matter. ‘OK, I’m just going to get my mates as I’ve just had a call from our boss and we need to get to Space to film,’ I said, maintaining my cool.

  ‘Now?’ he asked, sounding surprised.

  ‘Yep. Right now.’

  ‘You guys aren’t in any state to …’

  I pushed the door a little bit harder, this time using my legs to help propel the door open. The room filled with sunlight, causing the occupants to scowl momentarily like disturbed vampires. The guys looked like naughty school kids with their heads bowed. I walked over to Sam, grabbed her hand and helped her down off the table. The Brazilian girl stepped back and sat on the sofa, then lit up a cigarette nonchalantly. Jennifer began swigging from the bottle of Grey Goose.

  As we headed to the door KD tried to fill the awkward silence. ‘It’s not what you think. We were only having fun.’

  I didn’t bother turning to look at him. I just wanted to get Sam out of there. Why weren’t the other girls following us? Was the skunk making me paranoid?

  ‘Are you OK?’ I asked Sam as we got out of earshot.

  ‘Yeah, I think so. Everything’s spinning,’ she said, slurring.

  ‘What did you take?’ I asked.

  ‘Just some coke and alcohol.’

  ‘You sure? Did they give you any pills or put anything in your drink?’

  ‘I don’t know … I … I can’t remember,’ she said, rubbing her temples, looking out of it.

  Leaving the villa, we went over to the outhouses to find Benny talking to Cara and two of the Brazilians in the front room, indicating that Pritz was with the other Brazilian girl in the bedroom. The Russians were nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Hey, Jay, we were wondering if we should wake you up but you seemed so comfy on the lounger,’ Benny said, laughing.

  I looked at him, wondering if he knew what had been going on.

  ‘And where have you been hiding, Sam?’ asked Cara, her voice heavily loaded with innuendo.

  Her comment pricked a nerve and I could feel myself getting angry. Why hadn’t Cara kept an eye on Sam? She’d allowed Benny’s charms to let her forget her friend. I stood there trying to get my thoughts in order before I reacted. I decided this wasn’t the time for post-mortems.

  ‘I’ve just had a call from Max and we’ve got to meet him at Space to do some filming,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, OK,’ said Benny. ‘I’ll get the others and we’ll come with you –’

  ‘No,’ I said abruptly. Then, calmly, I continued, ‘It’s OK, I don’t want to stop you guys from having your fun.’

  Cara looked visibly confused but didn’t question it. We prised a fully clothed, horny and severely peeved Pritz off his Brazilian girl, said our quick goodbyes and headed straight out.

  I hailed a taxi that was driving past the villa and helped Sam into the back as the others jumped in. As I sat in the front seat, my mind was awash with questions. Had I leapt to conclusions? Maybe there was a reasonable explanation? Sam could have been a willing participant. I couldn’t trust myself to figure it out and she was in no state to tell me what had really happened.

  Pritz eventually broke the silence. ‘I was just about to get lucky with her. Couldn’t you leave me behind?’

  ‘Well, you had hours, why did it take you that long?’ I said, exasperated.

  ‘We were talking for ages. These chicks love to chat!’ Pritz said.

  ‘About?’ asked Cara.

  ‘Oh, everything. Brazil. Modelling. Travelling. But, phenomenally, football.’

 
; Cara laughed.

  ‘What? Football’s important to us men,’ Pritz said.

  She didn’t reply.

  Pritz turned and looked at her. ‘Don’t be jealous, it’s attractive when a girl knows about football.’

  ‘Oh no, I’m not jealous,’ she said.

  ‘Well, what then?’ he asked.

  ‘You don’t actually know, do you?’ she said to Pritz.

  ‘Know what, drama queen?’ he asked, getting more and more irritated.

  ‘Oh, you boys are so naive!’ she said, unable to hold her laughter any longer. ‘They weren’t girls, they were men. Post-op.’

  Pritz’s cockiness slipped away in a flash as he sat flabbergasted. I was in shock too. She was clearly pulling our legs. But then she began laying out the evidence: the Adam’s apples, their freakishly tall height and their big feet. Silence held court for a moment until the image of the beautiful Brazilian babes shattered into a million pieces.

  ‘Are we really going to Space to film now?’ Cara asked me as Pritz sat beside her silently in shock.

  ‘No, we’re going home. It was getting late and we’ve got a flight back to London in a few hours,’ I said.

  ‘Good job anyway. I’m battered,’ said Pritz, trying to get a normal conversation going again.

  ‘From all the kissing you just did with your fella,’ laughed Cara, not willing to let it go that easy.

  Pritz looked increasingly distressed. ‘I think I need to get to my hotel and sleep.’

  ‘So you can dream about your time in the sack with your Brazilian beauty?’

  I looked back at Sam and her eyes were closed as she rested on Cara’s shoulder. It was probably going to be something neither of us would mention again, but I was pleased I’d got her out of there. As Cara ribbed Pritz all the way to his hotel drop-off, I decided that, for better and worse, Ibiza had well and truly lived up to its reputation.