The Intern

by Dillon Khan

‘He didn’t want me to log anything for him but started asking me questions about what I studied and where. It was turning out to be a job interview. My facial expression stayed neutral like a gear stick until he said, “To be honest, if it was up to me, you’d be a girl. They work harder and look a lot better. But if you’re good enough for Max then you’re good enough for me. Besides, if you’re not I’m sure you’ll leave of your own accord!”’

  ‘Harsh,’ said Leon.

  ‘Yeah, but it was only then I realized how lucky I was. He showed me a huge pile of what must have been a thousand CVs to fill six intern spots.’

  ‘A thousand! No way,’ Leon said in disbelief.

  ‘He told me kids from all over applied. Rich, poor, connected, unconnected. Apparently people were even offering bribes to get in.’

  ‘And you got a job because you stalked Max.’ He laughed.

  ‘No, it was talent, perseverance …’ I hesitated and then admitted, ‘and logging a million bloody tapes for six months!’

  ‘Fina-bloody-ly,’ said Leon, letting out a sigh. I wasn’t sure if he was happy my story had come to an end or that I finally got something for my tenacity.

  ‘He told me, like any job, this was a stepping-stone not the end point of my career. “The Beat’s like the university of the TV world”,’ I recalled.

  ‘Sign me up for three years, please,’ said Leon excitedly.

  ‘At the end he says, “Ray, getting a job is all about luck. Being at the right place, right time. Do you know how I avoid employing unlucky people? I throw half of the CVs in the bin without reading them.”’

  Leon’s face dropped at the prospect he might be wasting time handing in his CV. Seeing this, I continued quickly, ‘I’m still not entirely sure what was true and what was a “joke” in that interview. The wage was definitely the latter and the six-month contract the former.’

  Suddenly there was a voice behind me. ‘Dude, I’m so sorry for the mix-up, I should have called you.’ It was Max.

  He was dressed in baggy designer jeans and a white T-shirt showing an image of a man about to destroy a guitar on the floor. I knew he was heavily into martial arts and had learnt Calinda, Krav Maga and Taekwondo, which kept him in great shape. Added to this his arms were inked in Japanese tattoos that made him look hard as hell to men and sexy as hell to women. Dude’s whole ensemble was fucking cool and made him look like he was the business.

  I stood up. ‘It’s OK,’ I said, happy to shoulder the inconvenience.

  ‘The department’s up in the air since we moved in. There’s been some major goings-on at the top so HR still hasn’t signed you off yet,’ he said, frustrated.

  ‘No worries. Sounds quite manic,’ I obliged, doing my best to smile.

  I said goodbye to Leon, who looked like he was re-evaluating just blindly handing in the CV he was holding.

  ‘C’mon, let’s go for a coffee, I need to get out of this mayhem,’ said Max, leading the way and flashing a grin at Miss Pink Knickers as we passed Reception.

  3

  Break on Through (to the Other Side)

  A week after the mix-up Max was meeting me in the Greenhouse again, but this time all systems were go. Each step we took up to the first floor filled me with excitement. Once at the top of the stairs, I finally got to see above the parapet. In front of me lay an open-plan office, just desks with computer screens and TVs playing music videos as far as the eye could see. And people. Not just people but good-looking people. Some sat on the desks with their feet up, others were looking over papers in a huddle or eagerly recounting tales from the weekend. It felt like a cool school common room, like the one from Beverly Hills, 90210.

  The tour of the building was conducted in The Beat way. Max and I hopped on two push scooters and wheeled around the building like it was a playground. He pointed out all the different departments and graded them for their drinking prowess, along with where all the hot girls sat. By the end of it, my mind was buzzing with both excitement and information overload of names and faces, functions and places. But I knew I was about to get a whole lot more as he dropped me off at a room known as The Sixties. Every meeting room was filled with images highlighting musical icons from a particular decade, ensuring music subliminally remained at the front of everyone’s minds when in discussion.

  On the door was an A4 piece of paper with felt-tip handwriting reading ‘intern induction’. There seemed to be a lot of A4 pieces of paper dotted around the building as makeshift signs. I’d already spotted one on a viewing machine (‘dubbing’), on a chair (‘director/part-time DJ’), on rubbish (‘to be collected’) and on someone’s back (‘I love Vanilla Ice’).

  For once I was on time, yet I was surprised to see so many people had arrived early. They were gathered in a tight cluster around a small table, holding paper cups in one hand and chocolate digestives in the other. A PowerPoint presentation was set up on a laptop as the projector next to it shone an infinity symbol, The Beat’s iconic logo, on to the wall.

  As I walked in, everyone turned to look at me. It was a communal look of nerves. I hesitated for a moment then walked up to them sheepishly. At that point everyone realized I too was part of the flock and not the shepherd that they were all expecting.

  ‘Am I late? Sorry, I’m Jay, intern for Total BEATS.’

  The group opened up and let me in. A hand came out towards me and I reached forward and shook it.

  ‘No, bang on time. Hi, I’m Sonya, intern for iWant, the video request show.’ She was petite, cute and blonde with beautiful blue eyes. Kind of like Smurfette, but with an Antipodean accent.

  ‘Hi,’ I replied, doing my best to look friendly.

  ‘How are you? I’m Cara, intern for D.A.N.C.E.,’ said another voice, this time Irish, followed up by a very firm handshake. She was tall, had huge breasts and looked gothic, like a young Morticia from the Addams Family.

  Next up was Tola, intern for The News Feed. She was a smartly dressed Nigerian American chick. She was carefully co-ordinated, from the earrings and nail varnish to the shoes and handbag. She looked like Vanessa Williams in her prime, when Digital Underground put her name in their rhyme for ‘Doowutchyalike’.

  The next hand came out with a biscuit, then went to a mouth, popped the whole biscuit in, wiped the crumbs on a jeans leg then came back to mine, and an accompanying voice said, ‘Hooy, mammesmaamurrd, mimtemvoormoovovovy.’

  A couple of quick munches later it came out clearer.

  ‘Sorry … James the Third, intern for Musosophy.’ He spoke in a Yorkshire accent, was tall and built like one of those rugby player-cum-volleyball spiker-cum-water polo toffs. It was ego-bruising to stand next to an Abercrombie and Fitch-like model.

  ‘The Third?’ I asked, thinking, Do they have posh boys up north?

  ‘Yeah, there’s two Jameses already in the office. So I’m the third.’

  ‘Ah, makes sense,’ I replied as the introductions continued.

  ‘Hi, I’m the intern for the hip-hop show Rap Beat,’ said the final girl, who was Scottish. ‘I’m Samina, but you can call me Sam.’ She was pretty, with a tomboy look about her. No make-up, hair scraped back in a ponytail, big earrings and a hoodie.

  They all looked like they should be on the front cover of i-D magazine as the ‘new cool kids on the block’. Was that how I looked to them too, in my scruffy clothes? It was like the first day at school. Everyone was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed but with a look of fear as they headed into the unknown.

  ‘So we’re the ones who made it,’ I said. I knew I had a story, so I asked, ‘How did you guys get in?’

  ‘I slept with the head of Production,’ said Cara, getting in first.

  The room paused as we stared at her, her face straight from the poker tables of Vegas. It turned into a wry smile.

  ‘I made a short docu-film about Irish protest music with my dad’s camera that got shown at the London Film Festival,’
she said with a casual tone that downplayed the accomplishment. ‘One of the heads at The Beat saw it, recommended me and I was offered a role. I don’t really want to work here, but, hey, it’s a bit quiet in Cork.’

  Shit, I hadn’t made a film. I hadn’t even picked up a camera. Jesus, this girl must be good. I suddenly felt out of place. There was still hope. Maybe the next person got in without a short film or a bloody BAFTA.

  ‘What about you, Sonya?’ asked Cara.

  ‘Oh, I used to be a runner at one of the edit houses The Beat uses in Soho. For a whole year I was getting meals for clients and cleaning out the rubbish but I did get to watch and learn some editing techniques. One day an editor called in sick with the runs and there was no one else about so I seized the moment and edited for one of The Beat’s executive producers. It allowed me to sneak my CV to her at the end of the day. A few months later I got the call,’ she said, smiling like she’d won the lottery.

  ‘You can edit?’ I asked in shock.

  ‘Just the basics on the Avids,’ she said humbly.

  Er, what the hell’s an Avid? I thought.

  We continued round the room to hear everyone’s remarkable stories. Sam had started her own free urban magazine at the age of seventeen. Her referral came from the head of marketing at Arista Records who said Sam was pivotal in breaking acts on the underground. And no wonder, she had interviewed everyone in the UK hip-hop scene and was a respected aficionado.

  Tola had graduated from Columbia University in New York, having majored in Economics. Straight after, she had an unpaid job with UNICEF’s press department where she went with camera crews into some of the poorest areas of the world to highlight the suffering. From there she saw the power the media had to change things and wanted to pursue a career in it. She had been put forward by someone ‘high up’ at UNICEF who’d gone to school with a member of The Beat’s senior management.

  A self-published magazine and working for UNICEF. It was up to James III to make me feel better. Turned out he had sent a Kit Kat and his CV to the head of HR with a covering letter that simply read ‘Gimme a break, Have a Kit Kat’. Maybe the moon was aligned with the sun at just the right angle with Jupiter in the correct quadrant with Venus, but it worked in grabbing her attention. James III landed an interview where he used his boyish northern charms to make him a must-have.

  I went over the shorthand version of my way in and it seemed I had jumped through a few more hoops than they had. But, instead of feeling like I deserved to be here the most, I felt boring in comparison to their stories of creativity and talent.

  All of a sudden the door opened and a woman in a tight grey trouser suit walked in with a man who looked like her father. He was dressed in jeans, a scruffy T-shirt, a scarf and a plastic Casio watch on his wrist. I stared at him like I’d seen his face before. Was he famous? Just then I realized who he reminded me of: Willy Wonka, without the hat.

  The woman with him spoke up. ‘Hello, everyone, I’m Kim Smith, from HR. Please take a seat so we can get started. Apologies for the delay but I was just getting all your induction booklets.’ She dropped them on to a chair by the door with a thump while we all sat down like we were in class and she counted our heads.

  ‘Looks like you’re all here, but before I get going with the booklet, I’d like to introduce Dr David Hewson, the head of The Beat in the UK. He’d like to say a few words to welcome you.’

  The Doc’s the head honcho? I thought to myself.

  ‘Thanks, Kim. Hey, guys and gals, welcome to The Beat,’ he said in an American accent. ‘I just wanted to meet you for a few minutes to congratulate you on making it and to say how happy I am to have you here. As you’re aware, the media is a major influence on people’s lives, giving access to a world of entertainment, politics and social commentary as it charts the next step in our evolution. We’re recording history as it happens.’

  As he spoke and gesticulated with his hands, the entire room sat captivated.

  ‘With a new century comes a new challenge as The Beat itself sheds its old skin and grows a new one. Embracing new technologies and fresh ideas is the way forward. Now, with that said, can anyone tell me who the most important person in this building is?’

  Everyone sat quietly for a moment, not wanting to be the kid who said the stupid thing in class.

  Eventually James III spoke up like it was a trick question. ‘Is it you?’

  The Doc laughed. ‘No, I’m not that important at all,’ he said, although no one in the room quite believed him. ‘The most important person in this house of opportunity is you.’ He pointed at James III. Then, shuffling slightly, ‘It’s you,’ he added, pointing at Sonya, going on to repeat it for all of us.

  ‘You’re not just interns, you’re the inspiration for us all. Your views, your thoughts, your ideas are what will continue to make us a successful and relevant youth brand. Equally the internship will open your eyes to so much and you’ll experience what other people wish they could.’

  Without any notes or prompting, he addressed each of us individually, referencing from our CVs and those who’d recommended us. ‘James,’ he finished, ‘I liked the Kit Kat approach. That’s the kind of out-of-the-box thinking we need in this place.’

  ‘I’ve got my last Rolo for you, if you like,’ James III responded. The room giggled.

  Wow, how the hell did he remember all that stuff about us? He’d even wanted Sam to show her DJing skills on the 1210s he had in his office. Everyone was impressed.

  ‘What would the world be without music?’ asked the Doc. Everyone pondered for a moment and, before James III could answer what was a rhetorical question, he continued. ‘The thing that links us all together is our passion for music. Music is what makes the world go round. Music can make you feel good listening to James Brown, sad listening to Coldplay, hyper listening to Prodigy, lifted listening to the Lighthouse Family or simply help you to reminisce by listening to Pete Rock & C. L. Smooth. It’s more powerful than any drug in the world. It’s the secret to life. It’s the secret to peace. It’s the secret to love. It’s the secret to youth.’ He paused and let it all sink in to us. ‘Peace.’

  And with that he smiled at us, nodded goodbye to Kim and was out of the door with a bounce in his step. Kim had probably heard this many times before but she seemed as enthused as we were. Sure, dude was old enough to be our dad but he talked, walked and acted like us.

  I looked round at the others and saw the electricity running through them. They were fully charged now and ready to go. The Doc’s personal touch on the pulpit had left us inspired. We had each been lucky enough to get one of Willy Wonka’s golden tickets and were now officially inside his factory of delights.

  4

  Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood

  I stood outside the quiet pub that evening in the warm April drizzle, looking up at the sky. Summer was knocking on the door trying to let itself in early. The rain was soothing and refreshing and reminded me of waiting for the bus after a school cricket match.

  I was waiting for my girlfriend, Sophia, who I hadn’t seen since Saturday. She had just got back to London for the Easter break from Manchester University, where she was in her first year of Politics. We had one week together before she went skiing with her family for a fortnight, so I had to make the most of seeing her. And if there was anyone who was more thrilled about my internship than me, it was Sophia. She would want to know every detail of my first day.

  We first met when she was watching her then-boyfriend play football against my team on a wet and dreary August morning. She was standing on the sidelines as a spectator and one of the clearances I made hit her plumb on the leg and nearly swept her off her feet. I went over to apologize to her while her boyfriend and his team continued to play on with me out of position and scored a goal.

  By sheer coincidence, a couple of months later, in Emporium nightclub in central London, I spotted her from the other side
of the bar. I asked the barman for a champagne tub of ice and a sponge, marched over to her and asked her if she needed any medical attention for her leg injury. She recognized me instantly and laughed while her mates looked on, thinking I was a nut. I introduced myself properly and we spent the night talking and drinking. It turned out she was single again and I offered her further physio if she needed it. It sounds cheesy now, but a year and a half ago it was a game-winning line, though I’m sure the alcohol had something to do with it.

  As soon as she spotted me this evening, she raced over in her Burberry check jacket, brolly in hand, and hugged me. Wow. I hadn’t realized how much I needed it. I held on for longer than normal. I squeezed her slim frame tightly and her familiar smell made me relax that bit more. She had big brown eyes, beautiful soft clear skin, full rosy lips, short black hair and looked like Winona Ryder. Sophia was naturally beautiful and didn’t need layers of make-up. I never understood why blokes liked girls who did. Why would you want to wake up next to someone the next morning and find the Joker’s make-up on the pillow and the Joker without hers next to you?

  ‘Sorry, LV,’ I said as I held her.

  ‘What for, RV?’ she asked, her head resting on my chest.

  LV and RV were initials she had given us. She was the left ventricle and I was the right, of the same heart. Sappy? Perhaps, but it was OK just between us.

  ‘Rearranging to meet you four times in one night. I didn’t expect to be getting out of work at ten o’clock.’

  ‘It’s OK, babe, it’s not going to be a regular thing. Your first day was always going to be hectic.’

  ‘True story,’ I said.

  ‘So, how much do you love me?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh much-much,’ I replied, smiling at her.

  ‘Even with all the hot women in the office, huh?’ she asked with a raised eyebrow and a mischievous smile.

  ‘Like I said, much-much,’ I promised, emphasizing it the second time as we headed inside. We found a seat in a quiet corner by the window and began the post mortem of the first day.