by Dillon Khan
Thankfully the number on the screen began with a foreign dialling code: Sophia. It was great to hear her voice as she filled me in on the shopping trips and sightseeing as well as the nightlife. It sounded like I was missing out.
‘So where are you now?’ I asked.
‘We caught up with some friends from uni and we’re in the Hamptons.’
I heard a male voice in the background. ‘C’mon, Soph.’
‘Who’s that?’ I asked.
She paused and I could hear that she’d muffled the phone with her hand. Then, with a slightly hushed tone, she said, ‘It’s the guy whose uncle owns the timeshare.’
‘Oh yeah, of course. Have I met him?’ I asked casually.
She paused again. ‘It’s Simon.’
What the fuck? That smarmy git! She’s lied to me.
‘Simon from the barbecue?’ I asked, trying to stay calm.
‘Yes, but –’
My voice steadily got angry. ‘The one who gives you lifts to university? Sends you inappropriate texts? The one I told you I don’t like?’ I said firmly.
She got defensive. ‘You can’t tell me which friends I can and can’t keep. I don’t tell you.’
‘Oh really, coming from the girl who didn’t even want me to go to a work fancy-dress party?’ I said.
‘And remember how you told me I was being silly?’ she replied defiantly.
‘So why didn’t you tell me you were going to New York to see him?’ I asked.
‘I wasn’t coming to see him, I was coming to see New York.’
‘So why didn’t you tell me it was his uncle’s place in the Hamptons?’ I interrupted.
She paused for a moment. ‘Because I knew you’d get funny about it,’ she responded.
‘But you did it anyway?’
Sophia tried to assure me it was just one night but I was hung up on the fact that she hadn’t been honest with me – she’d lied. We went round and round on the technicalities until she began justifying their relationship.
‘Look, Jay, he’s helped me out a lot this year. Driving me to uni and back. He helped me move out of halls when you weren’t around –’
‘Oh, so I pushed you towards him?’ I asked.
‘No. No one pushed or pulled me anywhere. He’s just my friend,’ she said.
I heard him again in the background. ‘Come on, Soph, we’re getting late for dinner.’
‘Jay, I gotta go,’ she said.
‘OK, fine,’ I said, and hung up before she could reply. Voices took over my head and I was too tired to stop them.
There’s something wrong here. It’s dodgy, said Bobby Brown.
No, it’s not, you’re being unreasonable, said Whitney Houston.
Why did she lie? asked Bobby.
She didn’t lie, you’re making it out to be more than it is, replied Whitney.
Well, if she is lying and there’s something going on, then you’re the mug.
Stop dramatizing. Trust in your relationship. Sophia loves you and you love her, Whitney said, reasoning the situation.
Yeah, but I can sense something from this guy, said Bobby, increasingly paranoid.
Stop being such an alpha male.
Bobby wasn’t giving up. It’s got nothing to do with that. It’s a gut thing and you have to go with your gut.
Why can’t you go with reason and logic?
Bobby and Whitney kept debating as I tried to sleep. I had too much on my plate and didn’t need this.
I’d barely closed my eyes to sleep when they were open again. I looked at my alarm clock as it sent beeping noises crashing against the walls in my room. Three hours had passed and it was time to get up for work.
34
Sympathy for the Devil
As I sat at my desk drinking a Red Bull, I couldn’t help but laugh. At the moment it really was pointless going back to the flat, given that I practically lived in the office. Worse still, my body was reacting badly to the lack of sleep and the artificial stimulants were messing with my mood.
The night before PJ had come good on one of his promises he’d made on the plane to take me places. With a suit from Armani’s PR boys, I was at the MOBOs, sitting on one of the six tables paid for by Sony Records and watching Sade perform. Glass after glass of champagne rendered the ceremony a bit of a blur as the presenters and performers came on and off stage to sweeping camera cranes overhead. But I had just one thing on my mind – Sophia’s betrayal.
‘Shit, wherever she is, do you think she’s stressing?’ PJ asked, hazarding a guess from my glum face.
‘No, she’s probably having fun with –’
‘Exactly,’ he cut me off, ‘having fun. There are people outside in the cold dying to be right here, right now. So c’mon.’ He jumped to his feet. ‘Before we go, don’t forget the two-second rule.’
‘Where are we going?’ I asked, confused. ‘What two-second rule?’
He looked surprised. ‘I thought Max would have taught you this. He taught it to me. Anyway, listen, if I haven’t introduced you to someone within two seconds it means I’ve forgotten their name,’ he said.
It was the first thing to make me laugh all day.
‘Laugh you may but do you know how many people I meet on a daily basis? I can’t remember them all.’
‘OK, OK,’ I slurred, the alcohol kicking in.
‘So, after two seconds you stick your hand out and tell them your name. There’s a very strong chance they’ll respond. Problem solved. But don’t leave it for more than two seconds, otherwise it gets awkward and it’s obvious I don’t know what their name is.’
He took me around and introduced me to people from record labels, sponsors, artists and anyone who had bought a high-priced table near the front of the stage. I did as he said and Sophia was pushed to the back of my mind as I schmoozed and exchanged numbers with some of the most influential people in the business.
Soon enough we were at the afterparty and, thanks to the hobnobbing, I’d managed to get Pritz in too, who’d come straight from a work night out. Things warmed up as a summery vibe returned, everyone dancing to Shola Ama’s garage mix of ‘Imagine’, a track that had been on heavy rotation in Ayia Napa earlier in the year.
As PJ drank with the other Beat presenters, Pritz and I stood gawping at all the hot women walking by, as if we were front row at a Victoria’s Secret show.
‘You know, as hot as some of these women are, none of them are worth it,’ Pritz said.
‘What do you mean?’ I asked, too drunk to work him out.
‘Well, if I was to ever retire from player-dom, the only woman I would fuck up my shit for would be Yasmin Le Bon,’ he said.
‘Eh?’ It wasn’t the obvious choice. I laughed. ‘Well, the day you retire from player-dom is the same day you die, I bet. Back in a minute.’ I was totally drunk now as I wove my way to the toilets while Pritz searched out some Yasmin lookalikes.
I stood with my eyes closed at the urinal, let out a big sigh and relaxed. PJ’s philosophy for life was starting to make sense. I worked far too hard to waste opportunities. I had to be a bit more single-minded and selfish.
‘So this is where you’ve been hiding all night?’ said a voice next to me.
My eyes opened slowly and I turned to the right to see Max looking down into his urinal. I hadn’t heard from him since he’d left and I certainly wasn’t expecting to see him standing next to me.
‘Hey, Max. I didn’t know you were coming,’ I said, all garbled.
‘I still have a few friends here and there. I take it you went to the awards with PJ?’ he asked.
‘Yeah, he got me a ticket,’ I said.
‘I see. I thought he couldn’t get any tickets.’
‘It was literally last-minute. I even had to borrow this suit.’ I looked down at my own urinal, feeling uncomfortable as Max seemed to be on the at
tack.
‘So, I hear you’re producing the show now?’
‘Yeah,’ I said timidly.
‘Well, I suppose they couldn’t let it go down the toilet. Someone had to do it.’
I kept quiet.
‘Better it was kept in the family, I suppose,’ he added.
Again I kept quiet, which only seemed to agitate him.
‘I expected you, of all people, Jay, to do the right thing.’
‘I thought I did,’ I said, confused. ‘Did you want your show to get pulled? Cos that’s what the Minister –’
‘You should have turned them down. They’re just using you.’
‘Yeah but …’ I tried hard to recall PJ’s rational words, but Max wasn’t giving me a chance.
‘You’re just going to fuck it up. Everything that I’ve built,’ he said.
‘Look, I’m –’
‘Don’t you have any loyalty to me?’ he asked.
I drunkenly raised an eyebrow, remembering that he was the person who told me ‘There are no friends in this game’.
‘I do …’
‘Doesn’t seem like it, Jay. You’ve stabbed me in the back. I believed in you when no one else did. And this is how you repay me?’
I couldn’t believe that’s how he felt. He was letting me have it with both barrels now, so I stood there and kept quiet like my older brother was telling me off.
‘You’ve got some chutzpah, kid. You think you’re a big shot now … Mr Beat?’ He sounded like he wanted to thump me. ‘OK, if that’s how you want to play it …’ He finished up and left.
I stood there, feeling my legs give way slightly. Had I stabbed him in the back? What if I do balls-up the show? Am I being used?
Once again someone was fucking with my head. This time it was enough to kill the night for me. I didn’t want to bump into Max again for round two of psychological abuse so I went looking for Pritz to go home. When I found him, I wasn’t the only one who needed to split. He was totally wasted, standing alone on the dance floor. I watched as he drank some beer only to puke it back into the glass. Moments later he started drinking from it again as his eyes shifted around the dance floor. I called a cab.
Pritz sat quietly in the Uncle Lee, leaning on the headrest as I looked at my phone. Sophia had sent text messages saying she wanting to talk. I didn’t want to. She’d lied to me and I found myself not trusting her. I kept saying ‘screw you’ in my head as I deleted her texts one by one.
Once I’d got my composure back, I decided I’d had enough of being an emotional yo-yo. I wasn’t going to let anyone mess with my head. Not Sophia, not Max, not the Minister or anyone else for that matter. I didn’t need their blessing or co-operation. I could do it on my own.
Suddenly I was snapped out of my daze by the car’s brakes being slammed on. Moments later, the driver had opened the back door and was standing on the street swearing at us. Pritz had puked in the back seat.
‘That’s it, get out! Get out, the both of you!’ he shouted.
‘Look, someone’s spiked his cranberry juice. He’s a Hindu-vegetarian. They don’t even drink,’ I said, trying to come up with something to keep us in the car. Clearly I was in no frame of mind to make sense.
‘That’s it, I’m calling my boss,’ he said, diving back into the car for his radio control.
By now, Pritz was bent over on the side of the road puking some more as I patted his back.
‘What the fuck, Pritz? How wasted are you?’
I continued whispering angrily in his ear as he slumped down further on to his hands and knees, preparing for the next hurl. Exhausted and desperate he said, ‘Take it easy, dude, I’m futarcked. Can’t you see I’m in trouble here?’
‘You’re not the only one.’
Before I could continue venting, the driver returned. ‘Right, I’ve spoken to my boss and he said he’s going to speak to your boss tomorrow.’
The Minister? No way. I can’t get fired over this, I thought. I tried reasoning with the driver, but he wasn’t having any of it. He had me by the short and curlies as he calculated the cleaning cost, our fare and his loss of wages to be £400.
‘What?’ I exclaimed.
‘Look, you wanted to know the cost, mate. If you don’t want to pay up, our bosses can sort it out tomorrow. Either way suits me,’ he said.
If I argued, he’d leave us there and I’d be in a whole heap of shit tomorrow at work. It wasn’t just Pritz who was bent over as I said, ‘Take me to a cashpoint.’
Pritz had virtually paid for me to live in the flat with him so I had no choice but to be £400 out of pocket. After I’d paid up, the cab driver took us home as Pritz lay sleeping against the window, spit dribbling out the edge of his mouth. I couldn’t believe Uncle Lee had turned on me too.
Home at last, I got Pritz to his room where he lay snoring as I went for a shower. As hard as I scrubbed myself, the stench of puke seemed to linger. Sophia had obviously given up on trying to get me to text back, and soon my phone began to ring. I stupidly decided to answer.
‘Hello?’
‘Why aren’t you answering my texts?’ she demanded with no pleasantries.
‘Because you’re a liar.’ I knew it was going to annoy her but I didn’t care.
We were soon having a full-scale argument with closed ears and closed hearts. Eventually exhaustion got the better of me, the night and the past few weeks catching up on me, and I fell asleep on her while she screamed about everything she hated about me, my job and my life.
When I finally woke up, it was ten thirty a.m. and production manager Gwyneth was on the end of the phone asking to talk, in person. Great, the cab driver had taken my money and grassed me up. I rushed into work, hoping that a chat with her would clear it up before it got back to the Minister.
I got to her desk and she took me to a meeting room. This was serious. She’d never looked so stern.
‘Look, sorry I’m late in. It was the MOBOs last night and –’
She shook her head. ‘It’s not that. I’ve got some bad news. It’s about your expenses,’ she said.
‘Expenses?’
‘Terry Perkins says we can’t pay them.’
‘What? Why?’ I exclaimed.
‘He says we can’t corroborate them and, as head of Production, the buck stops with him.’
‘What?’ I said again. It wasn’t as if I was claiming for bottles of champagne or new clothes. The receipts were for miscellaneous costs like props, specialist magazines, spare tapes for shoots and anything Max had barked at me to get. They’d built up over the months in his in-tray, as had the dust. There was over £400 worth of receipts. I couldn’t afford to lose that amount of money twice in twenty-four hours.
‘But they’ve been seen and approved by Max,’ I reasoned.
‘He forgot to sign them off before he left. They’ll need to be checked over again by someone else,’ she said.
I knew it would be the Minister checking each line and following procedure down to the last letter. When it rains, it really does pour, I thought.
‘Look, I’m sorry you’ll be out of pocket,’ she said, getting up to leave.
She left me in the room, dumbfounded.
Pritz had come home early that night but was locked away in his room, either still hungover or upset with me, I wasn’t sure. Having worked a full tiring day after the MOBOs, I finally sat on the sofa and flicked through the channels. I distracted myself by eating two Pot Noodles until it was time to watch my first Total BEATS being transmitted. For a moment the pain seemed worth it as my name appeared on the end credits.
As the ads played, I got a text message from PJ.
Well done. Told you we’d do it. Fantastic job.
I felt proud, but I was out of pocket and way past the breadline. I wasn’t sure how I would make it through the next month, let alone to December, if my expenses didn’
t come through. Moments later my phone beeped again with another text message. It was Max.
Your show menus were too short.
I smiled. It was the biggest compliment I could have wished for.
35
Frozen
Time: 10:13
To: Jay
From: Sophia
Subject: We need to talk with open hearts and minds
RV,
I think it’s best we email to stop us from shouting over each other on the phone and not allowing each other to finish what we’re saying. Firstly, I’m sorry about New York. I didn’t think it would turn out like this. If I was really out to lie to you I wouldn’t have told you it was Simon in the Hamptons. I could have used another person’s name if something was really going on. Our problems have been building for a long time and they started when you began work at The Beat. Hate to say it, but we were fine before that. Your work is putting this pressure on our relationship, not anything else. We need to address that if we’re to address our problems. I wish we’d met when I got back from New York and before I went to Manchester as I don’t know when I’ll be back down next. I wish you’d told me you loved me at least once during all this. I wish this would go away.
LV
PS I hope you’re not going to fall asleep while you read this!
Time: 11:46
To: Sophia
From: Jay
Subject: RE: We need to talk with open hearts and minds
LV,
I want to start by saying I love you … much-much, despite everything recently. I don’t want this drama in my life. The bottom line is you lied to me. No matter what my reaction would have been you should have told me the truth. You clearly only said Simon’s name because I put you on the spot. If you’d had more time perhaps you would have said another name. I don’t know but it’s hard to give you the benefit of the doubt right now. You know how stressful things are for me, all I wanted was some support. Instead I find my girlfriend has been away with someone else. I’m finding it hard to get beyond that and nothing you’ve said has made things better. You can’t rest this on The Beat.
