by Dillon Khan
Embarrassed, I quickly sat down in my chair and picked up my phone, pretending someone had called. James III saw the whole thing and burst out laughing, filling the department with his chuckling. I looked up again and the Minister was gone.
‘Shut up, you arse!’ I said without opening my mouth, barely moving my lips.
‘That was brilliant,’ he choked as the laughter diminished in his throat.
‘I can’t help it, he makes me nervous,’ I confessed.
‘Nervous of what?’ he asked. ‘You worry too much, Merchant.’
James III and I were probably neck and neck for the permanent job, and I was full of admiration for his supreme confidence. Not to mention his popularity. He was a loveable rogue liked by the women – and the men – in the office. ‘So who are you trying to sleep with this week to get to the top?’ I asked, regaining my composure.
‘I wish. Everyone senior here’s a bloke and I don’t live on that side of the Pennines.’
‘Well, our internships are up in a few weeks. Who do you think’s going to get the permanent job then?’
He looked at me confidently. ‘Cara.’
‘What?’ I replied, immediately offended he hadn’t said my name, but also disagreeing with him. ‘No way.’
‘The Doc loves her.’
‘One plus one don’t make eleven,’ I said, poo-pooing his theory.
‘She’s the one to watch cos you’re not a threat to me,’ he said brazenly.
I gave him a half-smile. ‘Gee, thanks!’
‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘there are more important questions. Like, who would you rather … Wonder Woman or Catwoman?’
I couldn’t help but smile. ‘Wonder Woman, definitely.’
After exhausting a debate on whether it was wrong to fancy a comic-book character and then counting down the top five most shaggable cartoon women (Wonder Woman, Jessica, Wilma, Marge and Chun-Li), I left the office to spend some time with Sophia. We were going to book our trip to New York. Max hadn’t signed it off, but I was trusting that his word really was good enough.
Sophia and I met outside her house of worship, Topshop, before we left to spend the day at mine. Even though we’d spoken on the phone and met up a few times since her friend’s barbecue, the air hadn’t been cleared and neither of us was willing to back down. But today we were doing a great job of pretending it had never happened and being civil, despite the huge elephant following us everywhere.
After booking our flights and a hotel, we sat on my bed and watched a DVD on my new widescreen Sony TV, which had come courtesy of Exposed PR, care of Max, who already had three. We ate junk food and drank bottle after bottle of Budweiser. It seemed like the elephant had left the room and we were getting on like old times.
‘Look at all this stuff, Jay!’ Sophia exclaimed, staring around my room.
CDs had piled up into stacks and it looked like a model of the New York skyline. There were more goodies dotted around the place: VIP passes to concerts, crew lanyards for The Beat parties, pictures of me posing with famous people, free DVDs, piles of new clothes, boxes of fresh trainers and a heap of gadgets, half of which were still unopened. Soon I’d have to convert Pritz’s room into my storage facility and move him into the bathroom.
‘Yeah, pretty amazing, huh?’ I felt like the previous months of my life were on display in front of us.
With not much else left to do, and under the influence of the Who is Jill Scott? album, we eventually did what we hadn’t done in ages. It was awkward at first and lacked any real connection. But soon normality returned as we committed properly, signalling we’d both given in a little to the other.
It was late as we lay hungry, naked and exhausted. Goswell Road was quiet, the silence only interrupted by the sound of the occasional bus. As I twisted round from lying on my side to my back, I couldn’t help but let off a fart.
‘It was the beer!’ I said, trying to cover my embarrassment and holding the quilt down to stop anything potent escaping.
Sophia tugged at the duvet. ‘I’ve smelt them before, RV,’ she said, laughing at my reaction.
‘What?!’ I exclaimed, turning my head round to her sharply.
‘When you’re asleep. Everyone lets rip then.’
‘What? No, I don’t! Do I?’
The look on Sophia’s face told me she wasn’t exaggerating.
‘OK, so sleep is totally different. We’ve never farted in front of each other.’
‘That’s cos I’m a girl,’ she said.
I laughed. ‘Yeah, so what?’
‘OK, well next time I’ll fart on your belly then so you can feel it!’
My knee-jerk reaction was immediate. ‘Urgh, that’s disgusting!’
‘What? You won’t let me fart on your belly? I thought you loved me,’ she said, knowing she’d successfully wound me up. Then she reached for some CDs from the nearest pile and began asking me about each album as she flicked through them. I impressed myself with how much I knew.
‘So all you see, day in day out at your desk, are hot, naked women?’ she said, looking back down at an album cover.
‘No, I don’t think HR would let the women walk around the office like that,’ I joked, twisting round to face her.
‘No, silly, I meant on The Beat.’
I immediately suspected a trap. I wasn’t sure if it was one or not but I wanted to avoid any last-minute banana peels that could cause today to go horribly wrong. ‘I don’t know. I don’t really watch it. It’s just on in the background.’
‘So when you watch videos of these women, do you compare them to me?’ she asked quietly.
There it was. ‘What? No,’ I said automatically, not even taking time to ponder.
‘So do I look as sexy as … Beyoncé?’ she asked tentatively, knowing she was one of my favourites.
‘Much more, LV, and you don’t even have a personal trainer.’
We laughed, and I hoped I’d passed the test. Just then I heard the front door being opened carefully. Pritz was home. I could hear him trying to tiptoe quietly past but, being drunk, he wasn’t doing a great job of it.
‘I can hear you. Do you have to be so loud?’ I said sarcastically.
‘Sorry,’ he slurred.
‘I might have a woman in here,’ I said, and Sophia sniggered.
‘That’s OK, it can only be one of two.’
I froze. I hadn’t really thought before I spoke, and now Pritz was about to start the Third World War.
‘Is it Sophia or your mum?’ he said as he burst in, holding a flat takeaway box, sending Sophia scrambling to pull up the duvet. ‘Who wants pizza?’
As I grabbed a slice, I noticed the cartoon of a smiling cowboy on the front.
‘You went to Fancy,’ I said, laughing.
Fancy Pizza and Burgers was Pritz’s version of Uncle Lee. When he’d spent all but £10 of his money at the strip club in Euston and couldn’t find an ATM, he would trudge a few streets down to Fancy. Standing across the road, he’d hit ‘5’ on his speed-dial and ask for a pizza to be delivered to our flat. Then, waiting outside the shop, he’d convince the Sri Lankan deliveryman to let him sit in the passenger seat and cadge a lift all the way home. ‘We’re all brothers, brother!’ he’d cajole.
‘I’m doing something to save our planet from unnecessary emissions,’ he explained. ‘Anyway, I’m going to leave you lovebirds alone. I’ve got to be up in four hours to work in front of six computer screens and keep the world rotating.’ He gave us a drunken rendition of ‘So Long, Farewell’ from The Sound of Music as he slowly departed, doing the Robot.
As Sophia and I lay spooning in a tight embrace, I felt the need to say something important before we fell asleep. It had been a good day for both of us and it was like when we first started going out. Friendship with fun. I knew I had to make things work.
‘Babe, I’ve been thinking,’ I said,
whispering into her ear.
‘About what?’ she asked, sounding like she was dozing off.
‘About us. About why we’re good together. The reason why you’re my LV.’
She squeezed my arm but lay silently, waiting to hear what I was going to say. I couldn’t see her reaction but didn’t let that stop me.
‘I want our relationship to grow. I want to commit to you like I’ve never committed to anyone before. I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but …’ I paused, took a deep breath, smiled and said, ‘LV, you can fart on my belly any time.’
29
Toccata and Fugue
After months of disinterest by the public at large, and the usual rumours that the Olympic stadium wouldn’t be ready in time, the Games of the XXVII Olympiad arrived in Sydney with a bang. It didn’t have everyone in the office as enthralled as the football in June had, but it was nice to have something other than the usual Beat playlist on the TV for the next two weeks.
I’d started emailing people at The Beat in New York for advice on where to go while Sophia and I were there for my birthday. The responses were phenomenal. My mind boggled with the potential for future holidays when I saw the worldwide network of The Beat offices on the internal mailing list. ‘The Family’ covered every corner of the world, giving access to local knowledge and tips like a personal Rough Guide.
I turned my mind to some of the admin that had been piling up, finally handing in months’ worth of unclaimed expenses to Gwyneth, the Production manager. After that, and more excitingly, I ordered kit for a shoot. But this wasn’t just a shoot for some new hip-hop night at Cargo in Old Street. No, we were flying out to Miami in a few days to interview Will Smith. PJ had a good relationship with him and wanted an exclusive interview about his upcoming role in the Muhammad Ali biopic, and about the rumours that he wanted to be the first black President of America. The film studio were flying us over to give the film some pre-release exposure. Then, seeing as we were already there, we’d tagged on a trip to Las Vegas, courtesy of the MOBO Awards, to interview their host, Lisa ‘Left Eye’ Lopes, in advance of the event in London.
It was lunchtime when I got a call from Max asking me to join him at Osteria Basilico, the Italian restaurant a few roads away from The Beat. He’d been spending a lot of time out of the office recently in edits while I manned the ship, but why was he summoning me there?
A voice immediately popped into my head. It was a slightly anxious Dave Grohl.
Oh no, are we in trouble? he said.
No, I’ve done everything he’s asked for, I replied calmly.
He’s not going to tell you you can’t go to Miami, is he? said Dave.
I thought back to the time earlier in the year when I was left behind on the Denmark trip in favour of Hugh and Oli.
It’s too late – the tickets are booked and he needs me to film this time, I said. Then I started doubting myself. Maybe he wasn’t happy with the way I filmed at the last Beat party?
No, it can’t be that, he’d have shouted at you over the phone, said Dave, knowing Max well. Are we going to get fired?
Surely we’d be in a meeting room with HR instead of a restaurant, I replied, thinking it through calmly.
What could it be then? said Dave, running out of plausible suggestions.
I kept racking my brains.
Has he broken up with Leila? I wondered. Hold on, I know what it could be, I thought as a possibility grew in my head. The permanent position!
Oh yeah, that’s it! said Dave, jumping around in my head like a hyperactive child who’d just solved a riddle. It explains the restaurant. He’s going to buy lunch to celebrate!
I couldn’t help but do an impression of Bill & Ted on my air guitar at the thought.
I hurled myself out of my seat, feeling the urge to vomit with excitement before I sprinted down the stairs and through the revolving doors. I ran up to the door of the restaurant, then slowed down, not wanting to seem too ruffled. Max waved me to join him at a table at the back of the restaurant, which was empty except for a teenage girl with a piercing above her lip and long flowing black hair by the front window arguing with her boyfriend.
‘How was the edit?’ I asked as I sat down.
Max stared at the menu. ‘The editor is finishing it off, so I thought I’d meet you for lunch,’ he said distractedly, as if we met up like this regularly.
‘Oh, OK. I thought something was wrong,’ I said, hoping I could lead him to reveal more.
‘Everything’s fine.’
I picked up my menu and concentrated on choosing something. Maybe he was saving the good news until we’d eaten.
We ordered our food and drinks and, bizarrely, made small talk. When they brought our food I was barely able to eat, I was so filled with excitement. Patience, I told myself.
‘So, Jay, there is a reason why I’ve called you here,’ Max admitted as he took a sip from his post-meal espresso.
I knew it, Dave said, reappearing inside my head. Here it comes. Be cool.
‘I didn’t want to talk about it in the office because I felt it would be better somewhere private.’
I sat still, trying to hold a straight face but pinning back a smile that was dying to get out.
‘I just want you to know I’ve appreciated how you’ve worked tremendously hard these last few months. You’ve put up with my shit and I know you’ve made plenty of sacrifices in your personal life to ensure we deliver the best we can. I’ve had glowing reports from everyone you’ve worked with, whether at The Beat or outside.’
Hearing him say those words was like reading a straight-A report card from school. At that moment I had more glow than Afro Sheen. All of a sudden the last five and a half months felt worth it. I had made it to the end of the marathon in first place and now I was about to do my final lap in the stadium to applause from the crowd!
‘I have some news and I wanted you to hear it from me before you hear it from someone else. I’m leaving.’
The false-start gun went off in my head. My eyes bulged and my jaw dropped. ‘What?’ I said in a whispery voice as my throat went dry.
‘Yeah. It’s time for me to make like a bad cheque and bounce,’ he said brazenly.
‘Why are you … ? But why would you … ?’ I was dazed and couldn’t complete a sentence.
He smiled and let out a big sigh. ‘There’re so many reasons, Jay. Where do I begin? Shit pay. Been here since I left school. Broken promises. But, worst of all, the poli-tricks.’
‘Poli-tricks?’ I said, looking confused.
‘Trust me, I shield you from it, but it’s all around. You don’t see it because you’re just an intern. You don’t see how shady these people are.’
Who are ‘these people’? I thought. Was he just bitter about something or were things really as he said? I couldn’t tell. Everyone in the office seemed so nice. Surely he was just frustrated and overworked.
‘Why do you think Hugh and Oli left? The best people don’t stay behind, just the backstabbers and brown-nosers. All these years and I’m only getting that now.’
‘But why … ?’
‘Because the Minister eventually wants to bring in his mates from outside, and he knows he can’t do it while the old guard are here. He’s just fucking power hungry,’ Max finished with conviction.
The Minister? I thought as the plot thickened. ‘So why are you going?’ I asked, still trying to understand it all.
‘I want a senior role but he’s blocking me. I was promised it when you started in April. That’s why I took on so much work, to prove something to them. I’ve slogged all this time and for nothing. Fuck that,’ he said, his voice carrying to the arguing couple, who paused for a minute before continuing their own heated discussion.
‘It’s getting way too corporate because of these assholes, and The Beat’s losing its edge. The Titanic’s sinking. I want to get into a lifeboat
before it’s too late.’
I was just about keeping up with him as he vented months of built-up frustration.
‘So before they try and screw me without the Vaseline, I’m leaving. On my terms. With my head high. At least they’ll respect me, even if nothing else,’ he said with a sense of satisfaction.
My eyes were flitting about as my mind searched for the right questions.
‘When are you leaving?’ I asked.
‘Today’s my last day.’
‘What?’ More shocking news was coming out by the minute. ‘You’re leaving today?’
‘I handed in my notice three weeks ago,’ he said breezily.
Three weeks ago? Why hadn’t he told me earlier? I thought we were friends.
‘I had a few offers, but I’m going to Sky TV because, well, they listen.’
So that’s why he’d had so many meetings in town recently. I’d thought he was editing.
‘I have one week off, starting tomorrow, then I take up my new job. I can’t live in Neverland any more, Jay. Especially now that the Lost Boys have gone,’ he added, clearly disappointed that Hugh and Oli had left on top of everything else.
‘What about Miami? What about Vegas?’ I said in quick succession.
‘Mate, those places aren’t going anywhere and seeing them isn’t paying my bills. I’ve got a kid and that’s got to be my priority.’
I sat in shock, trying to get answers from Max to the questions that kept popping out of my mouth like a jack-in-the-box. ‘What about the shows?’
‘Fuck the shows. That’s the Minister’s burden now.’
‘But what about PJ?’
‘He’s a big boy. He can handle it,’ he said.
We sat quietly as I ran out of questions.
After a period of calm, Max went on reflectively. ‘You know what pisses me off? I’ve put so much into this place and for what? It’s my own fault I got sucked in,’ he said, staring down while running his finger around the rim of his espresso cup. ‘That’s why I’m telling you, at the next place you go to, work hard but don’t get attached. Make your money, learn what you have to then move on to the next challenge. Football players aren’t dumb.’
