The Intern

by Dillon Khan

  We were heading to 10 Room nightclub for a showcase party to celebrate Craig David’s new single ‘Fill Me In’ and his upcoming album Born to Do It. Leaving the office was a nightmare. There was always something pulling one of us back in like an invisible bungee cord. We’d get round the corner and someone had left the mic cube, a wallet or their house keys behind.

  The official aim was to film a two-minute report for Total BEATS and the news team. Unofficially, it would be a great opportunity for a free piss-up, as one of the crew would pass it off as their birthday to other people in the industry in attendance. Apparently between them they’d already had thirteen birthdays that year.

  The driver had the radio tuned to Capital FM and Dr Fox on the drive-time shift, playing the hits that were moving London that week. Everyone in the cab was drowning out Westlife with their rendition of ‘Fools Again’.

  ‘Eddie Murphy all day for me. Stuey, what you sayin’?’ Max asked, shouting over the singing.

  ‘Oh, that’s a close one. But Richard Pryor was like a baby drinking vodka and milk. Sick!’ he said.

  ‘What?’ Max said in shock.

  ‘But did he have two top-selling shows?’ Oli interjected with his Mike Tyson-like lisp.

  ‘Yeah, but what about all the audio recordings Pryor had? Fuck Eddie’s two shows,’ Hugh countered.

  ‘But Eddie crossed over and went on to do bigger and better things …’ said Max.

  ‘But Pryor was the father to his style. If there was no Richard Pryor, there would be no Eddie Murphy. Even Eddie admits it,’ replied Hugh.

  ‘He might admit the influence, but it doesn’t mean he was inferior. Philip was father to Alexander but he wasn’t known as Philip the Great,’ Oli shot back.

  ‘En Vogue were mothers to Destiny’s Child,’ said Milly from the back.

  ‘Exactly, they learnt from those that came before them and moved it on a little,’ agreed Oli.

  ‘It’s that classic struggle for supremacy between Generation Now and Generation Then, innit,’ said the driver in his wide-boy accent, his contribution going unnoticed.

  ‘If we’re talking who’s hot today you have to include Chris Rock,’ I yelped from the back.

  ‘Oh, please! That jheri-curl joker from CB4?’ said Max.

  Stuey piped up. ‘Rudeboy, I have to agree, Chris is funny in Bigger & Blacker. C’mon, don’t hate, congratulate.’

  ‘Bah humbug,’ said Oli.

  ‘I quite like Chubby Brown personally,’ said the driver as he tried to get into the conversation once more.

  The cab went quiet for a split second. All you could hear were the wiper blades going back and forth. Just at that moment Dr Fox intervened and the song changed on the radio. There was a big ironic cheer from all as ‘Fill Me In’ played in the car.

  At the steps of the club Max shouted out the key instructions for the night, with The Chemical Brothers’ ‘Hey Boy Hey Girl’ playing in the background.

  ‘Right, lads, you go to the bar. Milly and Jay go set up and I’ll find someone from Wildstar. Let’s get filming, pronto.’

  It was hard to breathe in the small club. A gigantic fan was set up as the solution but it added to the suffocating atmosphere, sending hot air and cigarette smoke swirling around the room, which was definitely over capacity. But so long as the drinks flowed people would grin and bear it. Anyone who was anyone had to be seen at this party or risk not being considered an industry player.

  Once set up, Milly pointed out the movers and shakers who spoke to the record-buying public in their own unique way. From the all-powerful producers of kids’ TV and the major talk shows, to the radio programmers from national, regional and pirate stations. All forms of print media and the supermarket stockists were crammed in alongside the video programmers from the music channels. There might have been the odd competition winner inside, but on the whole this party was strictly private and members of the public weren’t invited. Only the hypnotists and suppliers were allowed in.

  Max came over, carrying a few drinks and some food, with a girl from the record label who he introduced as Regina Simonson. I sipped on the Coke, realizing it was more like a glass of Jack Daniel’s with a dash of Coke. I was meeting Sophia at the flat later to cook dinner and watch my first show on VHS. I didn’t want to turn up drunk, so I took small sips, allowing the ice to dilute its strength a little.

  ‘Right, guys, let’s get some vox-pops going,’ Max commanded. ‘We’ll do Craig in about fifteen minutes, so get cutaways of people partying and a few of the performances. Then cameras down and let’s have some fun.’ He glanced over at Regina, who looked back at him all gooey-eyed.

  ‘Yeah, that’s fine,’ she replied.

  ‘And, Jay, I know you’ve got to leave, so you can head off at seven-ish once everything’s done. You guys wait here and I’ll send some punters over for interviews.’ Then he was off again, working the room, waving to people across the club and kissing women on both cheeks as he squeezed through the tightly packed crowd. Regina trailed off behind him.

  ‘OK, so I’ll ask the questions and you can shoot?’ suggested Milly.

  ‘What? I can’t shoot. I’ve never held a camera before.’

  ‘Max’s not shown you? Don’t worry, it’s not that hard. Just point it in their direction, hold it steady and make sure you can hear their answers in the headphones.’

  She continued the on-the-job training but it was hard to focus when there was a party happening two feet away. Over the noise, she spoke about framing, zooming, focusing, white balance, gains, DBs and zebras. I didn’t have a Scooby Doo what she was saying, but I just nodded. It was too late to hesitate as TV personalities and industry heads stepped up to talk to us.

  Eventually I sat down in the corner with Milly, anxiously looking at my watch while sipping another JD and Coke. It was already twenty past seven and Craig hadn’t arrived. I’d have to leave soon. I didn’t know what to do. Should I just go? Should I wait for Max? He was nowhere to be seen. I didn’t want to leave till the job was done – it was my responsibility – but I had to get back for Sophia. Everyone in the club was merry and I was on to my third drink by the time Max finally came back with Regina.

  ‘OK, good news is he’s coming shortly.’ He looked over at Regina again and she gave him the same doey-eyed expression as before.

  ‘Yeah, that’s right,’ she said.

  Do I say something to Max now? I looked at him while he flirted with Regina, thinking of how I could word it to him that I needed to go. He’d understand, wouldn’t he? It was all done anyway, just Craig’s interview and a minute of performance. Surely he could do that with Milly?

  ‘Max, could I have a quick word, please?’ I squeaked like a mouse.

  ‘Yeah, make it quick. I gotta go get a drink, I’m parched.’ He looked around at the talent.

  ‘Er, do you still need me? It’s just that –’

  ‘Of course I do,’ he snapped. ‘Who else is gonna help Milly with the filming? I can’t, I gotta keep the label happy.’

  I looked across at Regina again. You mean you’ve got to schmooze with her, I thought. She would have been happy watching Max peel potatoes.

  ‘You got somewhere better to be than this?’ he asked, looking at everyone from the industry enjoying themselves. ‘Welcome to your new working life. At any given time we may have to cover an interview or a party.’

  ‘OK,’ I said, in a flat dumb-ass tone. I’d bottled it. I just hoped Sophia hadn’t left home yet. I reached for my pocket to send a text message but I had no reception. As I went to the stairs to try to call her a human tsunami of minders, management, label and hangers-on, with Craig David somewhere in the middle, swept towards me. I quickly ducked back into the club as they headed backstage.

  The room was buzzing now in more ways than one. Rumours were circulating that some of the kids from the royal family were coming to see Craig perform – an
d that the alcohol was running out. Both had the audience in quite a stir. I stood waiting to film, wondering if I should step out quickly and text Sophia, but each time I tried the tiniest bit of crowd noise would stop me in my tracks. It would always turn out to be a false start to Craig’s arrival on stage, but I couldn’t take the risk.

  It was eight p.m. when he finally came on and the restless crowd were easily won over by his apology and flattering words. Women of all ages shuffled to the front of the stage, swooning at his fast lyrical wordplay as he seemed to perform directly to each and every one of them.

  As we waited to interview him, Milly lit up a cigarette and took the weight off her feet. She was enjoying the buzz of the alcohol she’d knocked back and was happy for the downtime. It was now half-past eight and I was having nightmare visions of Sophia sitting in the smelly kebab shop below the flat waiting for me.

  ‘So, you got a girlfriend then?’ Milly asked in a drunken, forthright manner.

  ‘Yep,’ I replied.

  ‘How’s it going?’ she asked, perking up.

  ‘Good,’ I said, unsure if it would be by the end of tonight. ‘How about you?’

  ‘Nah. Was in a relationship until a few months ago.’

  ‘Why, what happened?’

  ‘Ah, mixture of things. We both worked long hours. In fact I worked the long hours, he sat at my place waiting for me. He eventually ran off with my flatmate.’ Despite the depressing news she was delivering, her voice still made her sound as turned on as ever. Suddenly I thought, Oh God, am I setting up Pritz and Sophia? Moments later a voice in my head burst into laughter.

  I looked around to see people dancing and having fun. People would have killed to be in this club. Yet I couldn’t enjoy it with my mind on Sophia. Just as I was about to dash for the exit to text her, Max returned with his shadow, Regina, who led us backstage for the interview.

  ‘I bet you didn’t have this grade of women at uni,’ he said, tilting his head to the right and admiring Regina’s pert backside. He pointed towards the crowd, leant in and whispered, ‘Once the interview’s done, get involved.’

  ‘I’ve got a girlfriend,’ I responded, wondering if he’d forgotten.

  He grinned. ‘Not in here, you don’t.’

  As soon as the interview was over, Craig was whisked out of the club with his massive entourage, and that signalled the end of the party. A few stragglers stayed on for the remaining free booze but there was a mass exodus, as though someone had let off a stink bomb.

  Stuey, Oli and Hugh surfaced from the different corners of the club with stories of what they’d been up to, regurgitating the industry gossip of who was sleeping with who. I just wanted to get out and call Sophia, ready to say sorry at least a hundred times while on my knees. But Max had already lined up our next party and, crucially, filming mission: Puff Daddy’s bash at Rock on the Embankment. I couldn’t get out of that either.

  ‘But do we have supplies for it? Did anyone pick up any Daz?’ asked Hugh in a panic.

  I knew from meeting these guys before that Daz was their code name for cocaine. It was called many names but this particular one took off with everyone after Oli explained his first encounter with it at the age of sixteen. He’d gone out clubbing and bought some off a dealer in the club, then went to the toilets to snort it with his mates. After a strange reaction, he panicked and went to the hospital, only to spend the next few hours in A&E trying to explain to the nurse how he’d lost the ability to smell from his right nostril. She then spent a matter of seconds explaining he’d been snorting Daz washing powder.

  Oli went to his back pocket and pulled out several small envelopes made from the front cover of a GQ magazine, distributing them to the others. It wasn’t my thing so I dived into a camera bag pretending to check the equipment to avoid Oli’s outstretched hand.

  Hugh’s face lit up. ‘That’s just don-ter-coo,’ he said, which I’d learnt to interpret as meaning ‘Sweeeet!’

  The excitement of going to a legendary Puff Daddy party was put on hold by the guilt that not only had I stood up my girlfriend but I hadn’t even called her yet. I should have told Max then that I had to leave, but I didn’t. He’d made it clear this sort of impromptu thing was now part of my job and I didn’t want to let him down or face his wrath again.

  Before I knew it, I was in the back of an Uncle Lee heading towards the Embankment with my head being filled with the wonders of what the party ahead would be like. It could have been Lucifer in my ear but instead it was Max: ‘Ain’t no party like a Puff Daddy party, cos a Puff Daddy party don’t stop.’

  As corny as the line was, I fell for it.

  10

  Girls on Film

  It was mid morning the next day when I walked over to the photocopier by the window for some privacy. Some of the boys were making a racket, having a remote-control car race in the department. I pressed number two on my speed dial and waited for Sophia to pick up. ‘I thought I’d see how you were doing.’

  ‘If you hadn’t rung I could have carried on dreaming about flashing lights and sparklers coming out of champagne bottles.’

  I laughed. ‘Well, it really happened.’

  ‘It’s all really foggy,’ she said, yawning, clearly having just woken up.

  En route to the Embankment, I had begged Max if he could save my bacon with Sophia and get her into the Puff Daddy party. He’d looked at me confused, like he was trying to solve a theorem, but eventually took pity on me. As Sophia’s Uncle Lee pulled up outside the club, he wasn’t too happy when my other girlfriend, Pritz, also arrived in tow, not wanting to miss out on all the fun. I gave Max a pathetic look that said, Please don’t make me skank my annoying friend?

  ‘I’ve never known what it’s like to be in the VIP section, let alone be treated like one,’ said Sophia, trying to remember the details of the night before.

  ‘Hey, I treat you like one,’ I said, feigning insult.

  ‘You know what I mean,’ she laughed. ‘It was like a zoo, although I’m not sure who was looking out and who was looking in.’

  ‘So, I forgot to ask you, what did you think of Max?’

  She paused. ‘Honestly, he’s nice but I have to admit he’s a bit intimidating.’

  A smile grew across my face. I was glad she’d met Max and had a better understanding of what my boss was like in person.

  ‘I was so underdressed compared to the girls you introduced me to.’

  ‘Not at all. In fact, I’m sure most of them were wearing the same outfit they’d been to work in,’ I said, trying to recall who’d been wearing what in the office the day before.

  ‘Wow, well I didn’t know who was a model and who was just a girl from your office. They were all equally good-looking.’

  ‘They’re not that nice,’ I said, trying to reassure her. I wasn’t sure if I’d pulled it off though. ‘OK, I’d better go. I’ll see you tonight for a full debrief and this time I’ll call you at home when I’m actually done so you’re not left waiting.’ I laid it on thick for effect.

  ‘Not too late, I hope.’

  ‘Who knows with this job? Maybe Puffy will throw a sequel tonight. You in?’

  ‘Defo!’ she said as her voice picked up with excitement, also signalling that she was now fully awake. ‘I’m going to call Mia. She won’t believe last night!’

  ‘Even I don’t believe last night.’

  As I put the phone down, I could only imagine the level of girly detail they’d go into and, for just this once, I couldn’t blame them! Back at my desk, people were throwing things across the department to one another: frisbees, paper balls and aeroplanes, tennis balls, a mini American football and anything else that could float or fly through the air. Music was blaring once more from all corners. Ad Sales weren’t fans of our noise and had complained several times in Senior Management meetings to the Doc, who in secret probably welcomed the atmosphere. This was The Beat; i
t was expected.

  In today’s sound clash, the rock boys were playing Limp Bizkit, the dance crew blasting out Armand Van Helden, and the hip-hop heads had on DMX. But Stuey trumped them all with some good old-fashioned pop that everyone could get into. Next thing, everyone was singing Ronan Keating’s ‘Life Is a Rollercoaster’. Other departments across the building stood up to see what the crazies were doing.

  As the singing stopped, Terry ‘the Minister’ Perkins, the head of Production, walked past on his way to a meeting. He was nicknamed the Minister because he was tall and inadvertently walked a bit like John Cleese’s character in Monty Python’s ‘Ministry of Silly Walks’ sketch. Made all the more stupid as he wore professional running shoes to work thinking they were cool trainers. He generally kept his distance from the department, perhaps to keep an air of mystery and thus control. There was no reason as mere interns we’d cross his path but he was the one who ultimately held our future fate at the company in his hands.

  Seeing him bob past, everyone jumped back into their seats and pretended to be working away furiously. ‘If I don’t have it in the next fifteen minutes there will be hell to pay,’ screamed Oli with his loud lisp.

  Hugh was more blasé and carried on reading the papers, looking at the gossip sections to see if any of us were in the background of a celebrity shot from the previous night’s parties. There was a support pillar in the middle of the department by Max’s desk that housed these pictures. If any part of your body featured – even just an elbow or a knee – you would take pride of place on the ‘Pillar of Fame/Infamy’.

  While the producers were larking about, us interns were running around as usual. I was knee-deep in research when Max came over to my desk in a hurry, looking flustered, as if the events of the night before had made him forget about the events of today.

  ‘Stop what you’re doing. I want you to get a camera and set it up in the Sixties room,’ he said in a panic.

  ‘What for?’ I guessed a surprise artist had just turned up.