by Dillon Khan
‘I’m on top of it,’ I said confidently. ‘And you haven’t –’
‘It’s too late. I‘m going back to running my mag. I’ve got an investor who’s interested in helping me grow it.’
‘Wow,’ I said. ‘Well done.’
‘If I’m going to work this hard, I may as well do it for myself.’
We were quiet momentarily until Sam said, ‘I’m going to miss you guys. It’s weird, I wanna go so desperately, but I’m still so sad. I can’t explain it.’
‘What have the others said?’ I asked.
‘I haven’t told anyone just yet cos I don’t want to make a big deal of it. I wanted to tell you because I won’t be here when you get back from the US,’ she said.
‘What, you’re done that quick?’ I exclaimed.
‘Yeah, I just want to get out.’ She paused again. ‘I’ve asked myself, over and over, why I’ve put myself through this. What’s so important that my loved ones came second?’
While Pritz had shown me the case for being single, Sam was reminding me of the people who really mattered. Sophia was one of them. We stood there, not saying anything, as the crowd screamed at another dope mix being dropped.
Sam looked at the dance floor. ‘What a great way to go out. All of us together.’ We both headed back out into the sea of people to join our friends.
When the night eventually came to an end, everyone jumped into their Uncle Lees and went home. Pritz was crowned the Blind Trader, and instead of forfeits for us, he settled for a prize. A cream cheese and salmon bagel from Beigel Bake on Brick Lane on the way home. Pritz’s phone had been beeping with text messages the entire time we were in the cab. I saw why as we pulled up outside the flat.
‘This is Jay, my assistant producer at The Beat,’ he said as he met the girl with the trucker’s cap from the Voodoo Lounge at our front door. I laughed heartily all the way inside.
Once upstairs, and before I could even blink, Pritz was walking her into my room and putting on the CD player. He led me into the kitchen before I could say anything and whispered, ‘I can’t exactly take her into my room, can I? It’s hardly The Beat-esque. Yours is perfect with all the CDs, VIP passes and all that good stuff,’ he said, flattering me.
‘Mate, I don’t care, I wanna get some sleep,’ I said, sounding tired.
‘C’mon dude, let this be my Diwali present.’
‘You don’t even believe in it,’ I said, laughing.
‘This isn’t a “ting and fling”. I think she might be the one,’ he said, straight-faced.
We both laughed this time and, moments later, I gave in.
As I crashed on to Pritz’s bed my mind turned to Sam’s words and to Sophia. Doubts about her and our relationship had been growing like poison ivy for weeks, spreading roots across my mind. Perhaps I needed to pull them out and give us a chance.
The next morning I woke to Pritz singing in the shower while the stereo in my room played U2’s ‘Beautiful Day’. As the light filled the room, I could see it truly was; the only thing that seemed out of place was that Pritz wasn’t following Bono. He was singing something we’d performed in school assembly when we were kids. ‘Diwali avi chaay, Diwali avi chaay.’ It had indeed arrived for him, belatedly so.
After a long Tube ride and a pit stop at the florist, I was walking through Fulham having decided I wouldn’t be ruled by my ego. Sam’s words had convinced me to pay Sophia a surprise visit to clear the air as I was flying out to LA for the website shoot in a few days.
As I got to Sophia’s house, I could see that her parents’ car was absent from the driveway but had been replaced by a silver Ford Fiesta. I knocked on the door but she didn’t answer. I could hear the TV was on loud in the front room so I went to the window to get her attention.
At first I couldn’t see through the net curtain, but as my eyes focused my heart fell to the floor. I saw Sophia’s head on Simon’s shoulder as they sat on the sofa watching TV. My pride wanted me to run away but weeks of fury that had built up took over in an instant as I banged hard on the window. They were both startled and jumped up in shock.
I banged on the front door and they both came to open it.
‘What the hell’s going on?’ I asked, without waiting for explanations.
Sophia was red in the face. ‘Simon was j-j-just dropping some notes over to me.’
‘Oh, really? It didn’t look like it from the window,’ I blared back.
‘We were watching TV. Don’t be paranoid,’ she said, still sounding shaky.
‘With your head on his shoulder? You bitch, Sophia! How could you do this to me, and with him of all people?’
‘Don’t be a twat,’ said Simon.
‘Who’s talking to you?’ I said, eyeballing him.
He took the bait and started mouthing back. I was so enraged I wanted to deck him. Sensing this, Sophia stood in the middle and tried to calm things down. But before I knew it, my left hand had taken it upon itself to hit Simon plumb in his eye.
‘Jay!’ screamed Sophia. ‘What is wrong with you?’ She turned to check on Simon.
‘Fuck this, we’re done,’ I said, and turned and walked off.
As I got halfway down the road, I noticed she hadn’t come after me and nor had he. I felt the adrenalin drain away and I sat down on a wall, clutching the flowers. Voices had taken over in my mind and I tried hard to clear them. Had I got it wrong?
Moments later I headed back, calmly, with the flowers in hand. I got to Simon’s car and individually stuffed twenty-four long-stemmed lilies as far as they would go into his exhaust pipe. By the time I was done they were packed in deep and tight. No, I hadn’t got it wrong.
39
Welcome to the Jungle
Subject: Out of Office AutoReply
Thank you for your message. I am currently out of the office filming in LA. For anything urgent please call me on my US number: +001 310 202 2025. Otherwise I’ll respond on my return.
Regards,
Jay Merchant
Intern, Total BEATS & Defm8
The memory of Sophia and Simon getting cosy was only a few days old but a trip abroad was the perfect antidote. Direct flights to Los Angeles were sold out weeks ago so I flew Virgin Atlantic into JFK and, after a long stopover, connected to LAX with American Airlines. Being back in economy sucked! However, looking at the in-flight map of the world, it reminded me that, thanks to The Beat, this year alone I’d been to more places than the previous twenty-one years combined.
By the time I landed and collected my baggage to head to the celeb-filled Mondrian hotel, it was rush hour. The traffic was always murder as everyone scrambled home, but more so today as it was Halloween and the streets were lined with people in costumes heading out to celebrate. I flicked through the driver’s LA Times, reading about Michael Jackson’s controversial invitation to speak at the Oxford University Debating Society about child welfare.
I checked into my palatial room, threw my bags down and flopped face down into the big comfy bed. I stopped for a second to consider how spoilt I’d become. I was desperate to sleep as the jet lag began to make my muscles twitch with fatigue all on their own.
I got myself to reception at seven a.m. the next morning to meet Zoe from Usher’s record label, who’d flown in from the UK. She was in her mid thirties but had the looks, body and energy of someone ten years younger.
Hiding behind her sunglasses, after some air kisses she asked, ‘Where were you last night?’
‘In my room, why?’
‘Didn’t you get my message on your mobile? Usher’s dancers wanted to hit the town.’
‘My personal mobile’s been off. I’m using the work one,’ I said.
‘That would explain it.’ She laughed.
‘Sorry, the production manager didn’t want me racking up my phone bill as usual. So what did you do?’ I said, disappointed to have misse
d out.
‘Oh nothing,’ she said, trying to play it down. ‘Just some food … drinks … and a club … or two.’ She lifted her sunglasses momentarily and rubbed her eyes. It looked like it had been a great night.
We were on the road and at a school football field by nine a.m. where we met my camera crew. Gwyneth had ensured I got a crew that had done umpteen shoots of this kind for The Beat US so I didn’t have to figure everything out on my own.
At first I was eager to see Usher and to get to watch a video being made but my excitement soon dissipated. The process was very technical and stop-start, taking time to set up all the various shots with Usher, the extras, Usher and the extras. It was primarily a waiting game between takes.
The sound guy, Sergei, an Oakland Raiders fan, and the cameraman, Larry, a San Diego Chargers fan, entertained us by goading each other about the other’s team. It was like having Arsenal and Spurs fans working together. Zoe chipped in with salacious stories about her artists and the good old days when she and her entire department would go on a jolly on Concorde to see groups perform at Madison Square Gardens in New York.
I took my small camera around shooting some B-roll to avoid the boredom.
The college-girl models dressed in skimpy cheerleader outfits with perfect tanned bodies, smiles and racks were a timely distraction after recent weeks. I tried talking to them but, as cute as they were, the conversation ran dry like the Sahara. I tried talking to the blokes too, but they were equally boring, and not even sure where London was.
I continued to walk around until something caught my attention. It was the front cover of a book I recognized but I was surprised to see it here.
‘I see you’re a fan of Eric Arthur Blair?’
The girl reading 1984 looked up and seemed equally taken aback.
Six out of ten and fairly pretty. OK, who are you trying to impress reading that? I thought.
‘Yes, it’s my father’s. How do you know about him?’ she asked.
And you don’t speak like a Beckkkky or a Britnaaaay.
‘Oh, he’s staple reading back home,’ I said, instantly sounding more English than before. ‘I can tell you in the end –’
‘Oh no, don’t spoil it for me.’
‘… reptiles appear from underground and take over the world. I’m sorry, I thought everyone knew that!’ I laughed.
She giggled at my idiocy. ‘Very funny. I’m Angela,’ she said, reaching out a hand.
‘Hi, I’m Jay. Sky blue, spag bol, vodka cranberry, Milhouse, Manchester City!’ I fired out Pritz-style.
‘What’s that now?’ she said.
‘Favourite colour, food, drink, non-family Simpsons character and football – sorry, soccer – team,’ I said.
‘I see.’ She smiled.
‘And did I mention I work for The Beat?’ I said, in a deliberately over-the-top way.
‘Oh really? That’s so impressive. Should I scream for you or for Usher?’ she countered sarcastically, in an overly animated cheerleader way.
OK, funny and intelligent. Well done, LA, she’s not a plastic Barbie.
I continued to cross-examine Angela and the more she spoke the more impressed I was. We spoke about the upcoming presidential elections, our favourite TV shows and her background, which was a quarter African American, a quarter German and half Native American Indian. Only in America! She was doing a lot of work as an extra to save money before leaving for Europe to study French at the Sorbonne in Paris.
Wow, was this girl for real? From the outside she was a loner reading 1984, but I knew who I’d be hanging out with on set for the next few days.
The command from the First Assistant Director to stand by for scene three eventually made us go our separate ways. The rest of the day sped up as the light began to dim on the football pitch. I was now running around after Usher, then the director, asking them what they had done after each set-up. Once we got to eleven p.m., the yell of ‘That’s a wrap!’ saw people shooting for the exits. I looked out for Angela but I couldn’t see her.
The next few days were rained off but we were soon back filming, this time on something street and ‘5th’. Angela looked increasingly hot to me each time I saw her – today she was playing a businesswoman. We met again the following day, which required an intricate sequence of filming in a factory. We’d already spoken about the socio-economic rise of southern hip hop and the use or misuse of the N-word in music.
During one break I said, ‘You know what’s really lame is that you haven’t once asked me for my number?’ as if it was preposterous.
She laughed. ‘Lame like that line?’
‘What line? I come to your country and you still haven’t shown me around.’
‘We’ve been working,’ she said.
‘But otherwise you would have?’
‘Would have what?’ she said, playing dumb.
‘Been my tour guide!’ I pretended to do sign language. ‘I tip well!’
‘Maybe.’ She smiled.
That smile was enough. Like Pritz, I went in for the kill. Yes, I was flirting and yes, it was working – I’d finally found something she succumbed to.
I gave her my call sheet to put her number on as I stood behind the Assistant Director, sending him vibes to shout ‘Wrap’. Not just because I wanted to ask Angela to join me for dinner but because I’d also had enough. Having continuously heard the same song again and again on set, I had vowed never to wear a shirt so I wouldn’t ever have reason to pop its bloody collar.
40
Hooray for Hollywood
Zoe had seen me hanging around Angela, not filming a single vox-pop, and realized I was doing more than having a cultural exchange about our two countries. So she booked a table that night at some swanky LA restaurant called Linq, supposedly for the whole crew but, like a superb wing woman, then left it to the two of us. She sent me a text later saying, ‘Thanks for your hard work – courtesy of the label.’
We had the whole night to ourselves with no pressure as the next, and final, day of shooting didn’t start until nine p.m. Angela had already agreed to spend the next day showing me the sights, and I was looking forward to it. Over dinner, Angela and I became absorbed in conversation once more. It was exciting to flick from one subject to the next and then come back again. I felt a pinch of guilt, momentarily forgetting I had no reason to feel bad any more. It was OK to be enjoying my time with Angela. She was completely on my wavelength when it came to The Beat and how hard you had to work to make it in the industry. The only time my attention swayed was when Jennifer Aniston came into the restaurant.
‘Oh my God, there’s Rachel,’ I said out loud, like a nerdy fan with my mouth gawping wide and my finger still pointing. I quickly wiped the gormless look off my face and replaced it with a straight one. It was meant to be sexy, but I think it probably looked as if I was constipated.
‘So do you … ?’
‘Do you?’ I asked back, not sure what she was asking but playing along.
She laughed. ‘I see. You wanna see what I say before you say what you wanna say?’
‘That’s right,’ I said, pretending to follow.
‘No, I don’t,’ she said straight-faced. ‘How about you?’
I finally got what she meant when I saw a suspicious look in her eyes. I went to respond about having a girlfriend but hesitated. ‘Er … well …’ I stuttered.
‘Uh oh,’ she said, laughing.
It was the last thing I wanted to discuss but I found myself telling her about my relationship with Sophia and how things had gone bad between us. Lack of time. Insecurities. Trust. Sophia cheating on me. Somehow it was easy to talk to a stranger about it all.
She didn’t take sides, playing devil’s advocate at every turn with ‘Perhaps they were enjoying a lazy Sunday afternoon on the sofa?’ and ‘Maybe they were startled because of the knocking on the window.’ But she did b
reak her neutrality, laughing at my Eddie Murphy impression when I told her I’d left a surprise in Simon’s exhaust pipe à la Beverly Hills Cop.
‘So, where are you now with it?’ she asked.
‘She’s been emailing and texting, wanting to talk, but what’s there to talk about?’ I said. ‘It’s over.’
‘Clarification? Closure?’ she offered.
‘I suppose. I still can’t come to terms with the fact that she made me doubt myself. My gut instinct. Even if it’s all circumstantial, at what point do you believe in yourself and stop believing in the other person?’
She paused for a moment before responding. ‘Good question. I’ve always believed in myself because that way, if the shit hits the fan, the mistakes are mine to make and not someone else’s.’
I looked at her like she’d made a crucial point in a murder trial.
‘The way you’ve been acting the last few days I’d never have thought there was something wrong. You seem so happy,’ she said, perplexed.
‘That’s the thing with this job, it helps you mask things. You get so involved that you forget about your life. I think that’s been the problem. On the one hand it’s a gift, but on the other, it’s a curse.’
Before Angela got in her cab to go home, she kissed me on both cheeks and hugged me as I stood looking confused, feeling the world’s troubles back on my shoulders again. ‘Jay, thanks for a great evening. It’s been the most fun I’ve had in ages,’ she said, smiling.
‘Yes, all the talk about my ex must have been real fun,’ I said apologetically.
‘Look, I’m sure if it was the other way around you’d have been a friend to me,’ she said reassuringly.
I rubbed my forehead. ‘Thanks. I’ve not really had a chance to make sense of it in my head since it all happened. Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow for the sight-seeing trip.’
She opened the door to the cab. ‘One thing I have to say,’ she started before she got in. ‘If I was your girl, I wouldn’t have had him round if he was the cause of the fight in New York. But that’s just me.’ Then she climbed inside and blew me a kiss from the window as the cab pulled away.
