by Dillon Khan
I was slowly waking up as the conversation continued.
‘Max’s old boss, Robert Johns, will assist you to direct the shows for one week and after that, apparently, you can do it yourself,’ he said.
Oh shit, what had PJ been saying?
‘OK, yes. Um, thank you for the chance,’ I said, trying to sound grateful rather than half asleep. ‘Terry, I just remembered, can someone cover me next week? I’m going away to New York for my birthday,’ I asked.
He spent less time thinking about it than Elvis choosing between a burger or a salad. ‘I think you’ve had enough holidays recently, don’t you? We don’t have the manpower or the budget to cover that.’
I tried to figure out what my next move should be. We were playing cards and I’d thought I had a good hand but the dealer now seemed to be in control. There was only one conclusion. ‘OK, I’ll sort it out,’ I said, already imagining how Sophia was going to react. My stomach churned.
The Minister suddenly took a headmaster’s tone with me. ‘Mister Merchant, do I have to remind you again, there’s a ratings war going on. So if anything goes wrong in the coming weeks I’m holding you personally responsible and no amount of pushy agents or anyone else will be able to sweet-talk Doctor Hewson,’ he said.
‘Sure,’ I said nervously, realizing I had inadvertently gone into his bad books.
‘And, Jay, one last piece of advice. On my tenth birthday, after I’d cut my cake, my father put his hand on my shoulder and said, “Remember, my son, if you ever need a helping hand, you’ll find one at the end of your arm”.’ He said it raw like Eddie Murphy and then he put the phone down.
I dropped my head back on to the pillow and looked up at the ceiling, reflecting on the conversation.
The hand I’d finally been dealt was even worse. The wage was still shit, the work double, help was short of the mark, my new boss hated me, I was about to cancel my birthday trip so I’d be out-of-pocket and out-of-favour with Sophia. What was I thinking?
With the odds stacked against me, it was stick or twist time, and it seemed that – despite everything – I had decided to twist. All I knew now was that I needed – and more importantly I still wanted – that permanent job.
32
Happy Birthday
As I touched back down into London and the autumn cold, I was suffering a combination of jet lag and exhaustion. I’d hardly slept in Miami, and in Vegas, well, it felt like time didn’t exist. We were either at the casino gambling PJ’s money away, drinking, attending a spectacular show, eating, gambling some more, clubbing or going to a strip club. PJ wouldn’t allow me to sleep, suggesting it was best done on the plane back. It was so full-on we’d almost missed the MOBO interview we were there to do.
Walking into my flat, I felt as if I had no sense of direction, literally and metaphorically. For the last week I’d been swept away in the land of fantasy and I still wanted to escape the reality of what lay ahead. Not just getting everything ready for my very first show on my own, but also explaining to Sophia that I wasn’t going to New York. We were meant to be flying out on Saturday, the day before my birthday, and today was Thursday. It was hard to figure out which I was least looking forward to.
I left my suitcase by the door and crashed on to the sofa. I wanted to sleep but couldn’t. I flicked the TV on to try to get a grip of what had been going on in the world since I’d been gone. American news was just that, American. There was no international coverage, they were completely engrossed in every baby-kissing moment a presidential election year brings.
There was a ‘breaking news’ graphic on the BBC news channel. After a period of relative calm for the region, it looked as though it was kicking off again in the Middle East. The dysfunctional family of Abraham needed counselling once more. It was followed by news of UK fuel shortages that made me reach for the off-button.
There was no sense in delaying; I had to get the ball rolling on something. Sophia knew Max had left The Beat as I’d told her before I went to the States. But now I had to bring her up to speed with the ‘since I’ve been gone’ episodes. I dialled her number and waited for her to answer.
‘Babe,’ she said. ‘You’re back! How was it?’
‘It was crazy, is all I can say!’ I went on to explain the new deal with PJ.
Sophia was excited that I was still in a job, that I’d been given more responsibility and was seeing only the positives.
‘It’s not that straightforward. There’s a lot for me to learn in the next few days before going to the studio. I’m going to have to spend most of my time in the office doing the usual day-to-day stuff, then spend the nights learning how to direct and produce both shows by looking back at old tapes,’ I complained.
‘Well, let’s have fun on our trip and then you can roll up your sleeves and get going when we get back,’ she said, still unaware.
I went silent. I wasn’t sure how to say it. I opened my mouth several times but nothing came out as my brain pulled the words back each time. Eventually I spoke.
‘That’s the thing: we can’t go to New York. The Minister won’t give me time off,’ I said sheepishly, waiting for the backlash.
‘What?’ she said quietly, ahead of the eruption I knew was coming.
‘If I go, I’m basically fired,’ I said, trying to explain my reasoning.
‘They can’t do that!’ she yelled.
‘Its not they, it’s he,’ I said.
‘So our money’s wasted? The flights, the hotel, everything?’
‘Look, I’m sorry. I’ll pay you back for your share,’ I said, trying to counter every negative she could think of.
There was an audible sigh at the end of the line. ‘That’s not the point, Jay. It’s not the money.’
‘I know, but what do you want me to do?’ I asked.
‘I’ve already told all my friends we’re going as well,’ she said, more to herself than me.
That got my back up. I needed her to see this from my perspective. ‘What’s that got to do with it? It’s either a shitty little holiday to New York or my career!’
‘Shitty little holiday?’ she gasped.
I cursed inwardly. ‘I’m sorry … I didn’t mean it like that. You know what I mean. This is really important to me in the long run and New York’s not going anywhere,’ I pleaded.
‘I’ve waited the entire summer to go away with you. I haven’t been anywhere while you’ve swanned off to Holland, Ibiza, Miami, Vegas –’
‘Hey, I was working –’
‘And I was dying to celebrate your birthday with you,’ she finished.
Exhausted, we both fell silent.
‘What should I do?’ I asked after a long pause. ‘You tell me?’
‘New York.’
‘I’m sorry, babe, but I just can’t. I’ll make it up to you later in the year. Let things calm down for me. I’ll get the Minister on side and get us a trip away somewhere hot and nice from one of my contacts,’ I said, hoping that would make up for it.
‘You’ve been promising me it will calm down all year. It doesn’t. I’ll be at uni and when I get back my parents are planning a family holiday for Christmas.’
‘Look, we can figure something out. Just understand I’m really sorry, my hands are tied. I was looking forward to this too, remember? Please support me on this because it’s really important to me. This is my dream.’ Then with a whispered voice, I said, ‘I really don’t want to be unemployed again.’
She went quiet on the other end, still seething.
I wasn’t sure what else I could say. I wanted to reach through the phone and hug her, as much for my own sake as hers. I didn’t have the energy to be fighting the Minister and Sophia.
‘Shall I call you later?’ I asked.
‘OK,’ she said, sounding flat.
‘I love you, much-much,’ I added, trying to get a warm reaction.
‘I know.’ She
put the phone down.
I felt so bad, I knew I wouldn’t sleep even though I was exhausted from the jet lag. But I didn’t have time to sit and wallow; there was work to do. I had to catch up on emails, log tapes from our trip and order previous episodes of the shows to start learning from. I grabbed my keys and headed back out the door.
As I got to the revolving doors at work, people were already leaving the office to go home. The department was empty and not just because Max wasn’t there. Even all the televisions were off. For the first time the place seemed to lack any energy or vibe. Had Ad Sales and the Minister finally got their way? Max, Hugh and Oli’s desks were already covered with tapes, boxes, magazines, newspapers and competition prizes, wiping away their existence. As I got to my desk and put my bag down I saw the recognizable figure, or should I say the comical stride, of the Minister. He was heading home and gave me a small nod.
Smug fuck, I thought.
I sat down to go through my emails but was constantly interrupted by the other interns. They came by one after the other on their way back from studio recordings and edit suites, busy with party footage from Freshers Week. I should have just written an email of everything that had happened and forwarded it on to all of them. Instead I had to relay every detail to each of them individually.
Eventually the others all left and I was alone at my desk, trying to fight off fatigue and my guilt for cancelling the New York trip. I had sent a couple of texts to Sophia but hadn’t heard back yet. I got up to make a coffee in the staff kitchen and noticed I wasn’t alone in the building. Pavel, one of the Music Programmers for the UK, was still at his desk, typing away furiously with his headphones on. I walked over towards his cubicle for a chat on the new music videos I’d missed while I was away.
Soon I was back at my computer with a spring in my step and it wasn’t just from the coffee I had nearly burnt my tongue on. I started to fly through the backlog of emails and things began to fall into place. I’d have kept going all through the night if my phone hadn’t rung at 11.13 p.m. It was Sophia, and by the sounds of it she was in a pub.
‘Hey, babe, how are you?’ I asked.
‘I’m good, nookie monster. Much better,’ she said with energy.
‘Oh, that’s good to hear. I’ve been feeling so guilty about New York.’
‘You don’t have to be, Mia’s going to help –’
‘Well, I have something to put a smile back on your face,’ I said, interrupting her.
‘Oh my God, are you coming to New York?’ she screamed down the phone.
‘No. I have a surprise for you on Sunday,’ I said. Then my head kicked into gear. ‘What do you mean Mia’s going to help?’ I asked.
She told me that her friend had suggested going in my place. They phoned the travel agent, who pulled some strings and changed our names over so I wouldn’t be out of pocket.
‘And apparently someone from uni is already out there and has access to his uncle’s timeshare in the Hamptons! The Hamptons, how cool is that?’ she said, full of excitement.
What she was suggesting was the perfect solution to the problem. Yet there was a niggling thought in my head. ‘But what about my birthday?’ I said pitifully.
‘I know, babe, I’m sorry. Look, I’ll be gone for a bit and you’ll be working anyway. We can celebrate when I get back,’ she said logically.
‘Sure,’ I said.
‘So you’re cool?’ she asked.
‘Yes, I’m cool, I’m slightly jealous that’s all.’
‘Babe, you get to go to all these places and I never say anything,’ she reminded me.
‘Yes, but that’s because it’s –’
‘Work! Yes, I know,’ she said sarcastically.
I laughed.
‘So what was the surprise?’ she asked.
‘Oh that, it was nothing. It can wait.’
‘OK, let’s speak later, RV, gotta go.’
I hung up and tried to get back the energy I’d had before she called. I was pleased that Sophia was getting her holiday but it was true what I’d said – I was a little bit jealous. With a deep sigh, thinking of what lay ahead, I turned back to my computer screen and started going through old scripts.
The next few days blurred one into each other like I was back in Vegas. But without the fun. I had very little time to get my first show ready and know my shit. Added to this was all of Max’s work, including picking up his rerouted calls. Independent labels and artist managers would be desperate, and occasionally aggressive, to get their video on the show. Saying ‘no’ took up sixty per cent of the day.
People were counting on me to succeed. And one person in particular wanted me to fail. That was enough to have me working all hours even though I could barely keep my eyes open. I didn’t make it to a London Fashion Week party on Friday night with the other interns and I missed the chance to see a DJ set from Trevor Nelson on Saturday night with my uni mates. But, worst of all, I missed out on Sunday afternoon’s birthday roast at my mum’s. As I dined alone on a soggy chicken burger, oily chips and flat Coke from KFC, I hoped my hard work was all worth it. Happy birthday.
When I needed extra motivation I called up the Minister’s face in my mind, hoping he’d change his opinion about me and give me that permanent role. That ‘Access All Areas’ VIP pass PJ had described. Maybe that’s why I was being extra anal. I didn’t even ask Tola for help. I could have had some downtime that weekend but I didn’t want to take it easy until I’d delivered my first show perfectly.
At 10.58 p.m. on Sunday night I leant back in my chair to watch The Beat at my desk. The surprise I had for Sophia would have to be enjoyed by me alone. I’d told Pavel about the New York debacle and, to try to make things up with Sophia, he had allowed me to choose all the videos for the ‘Love 2 Love’ slot on the channel. Sophia’s favourite songs would be accompanied by messages at the bottom of the screen: ‘I’m sorry for messing up. I love you much-much’ and ‘This one’s for the most wonderful gf, from the most sorry bf … from RV to LV’. They were hardly poetic but I only had 120 characters to play with. It wasn’t much but still more original than a bunch of flowers to say sorry.
As the videos played I tried calling her mobile but it went to answering machine. I hadn’t heard from her that day except for a solitary text message saying: ‘Happy Birthday, love Sophia xxx’.
As midnight approached the TV screen went to black and all that remained was the infinity icon in the top right corner accompanied by silence. The channel had momentarily frozen. I sat staring at my reflection on the screen. After what felt like an eternity, order was restored and a video began to play. It was now 2 October – no longer my birthday. It had sucked. The best thing about it was that it was over.
I still had lots of work to do but needed a power nap for a few hours so I could wake up at four a.m. and carry on. I headed for the First Aid room and the only bed on offer in the entire building. There was a used condom on the floor but I was too tired to find it disgusting. As I lay down on the blanket, which smelt like disinfectant, my mind was a jumble of videos, links and scripts before I fell fast asleep.
33
New York, New York
On the day of my first record without Max, I got into the office at six a.m. to check over both shows’ scripts and every last-minute detail. I had barely slept a wink as my overactive mind played tricks on me. I’d dreamt I was late and that the Minister was waiting by my desk with a P45 form, laughing loudly with the other interns. Even now I was safely at work, panic would hit me every so often, thinking I’d forgotten something. I found myself constantly looking over to Max’s desk, a habit that was hard to break. I was like a little kid, wobbly without my training wheels.
Whenever things got a bit crazy I’d take the Sun newspaper and head to the one place where I could get peace and tranquillity: the toilets. The shows weren’t quite right and I was trying to get some clarity. But every tim
e I tried to think of a solution I’d hear someone, well, straining. At first it was annoying but after a short while it became quite funny. After one particular groan and cough, I enquired softly, ‘James?’
The cubicle went quiet. I wanted to laugh but didn’t want to embarrass the guy. I wasn’t getting much done so I pulled up my pants and went to wash my hands. As I did, the door of the other cubicle opened and my face dropped. It was Darth Vader. I quickly averted my gaze from him and began to wash my hands as though everything was normal. The smell from his cubicle started to waft out. I held my breath while looking relaxed and casual but scrubbing my hands furiously. The soap wouldn’t wash off quickly enough. As I dried my hands and escaped outside I gulped the fresh air into my lungs and went back to my desk.
Once we got to studio, Tola was floor manager while I sat in the gallery next to Robert Johns, who was directing today’s show. Next time it would be me. I watched him work with effortless ease as he commanded the gallery and studio staff like an orchestral conductor. I tried to make notes of what he was doing and saying as he went along but it was impossible to keep up. But it helped to distract me from my nerves and before long the shows were recorded.
Robert and PJ gave me a thumbs-up on the script and were impressed I’d managed to pull it all together. Hopefully the Minister would get a good report. But the proof would be in the pudding; I had to impress everyone with my edit.
After agonizing over a few shots and links I delivered the show at two a.m. and got back to the flat buzzing at the achievement. Thoughts ran around in my head like an athlete doing the 10,000 metres. I couldn’t believe I’d made my first show. I’d made my first show!! The exhilaration slightly subsided at the thought I would have to go through it all over again the following week but with the added burden of directing. At that moment, not only did I appreciate Max for having done this week after week for all those years, but also how much he’d taught me in just a few months.
As I lay there, filled with a mixture of excitement, fear, joy and trepidation, my phone began to ring unexpectedly. I was almost too scared to look in case it was someone from The Beat. Had I forgotten to do something? If the show didn’t get put into the system in time they’d take it off the schedule and note it as a ‘failed delivery’. That’s what the Minister would be looking for.
