“Oh,” I breathed. My stomach dropped and I winced, feeling like an idiot for mixing up their names. “I’m so sorry. I should probably confess that I’ve never seen your show. I was sitting outside when people started whispering about it, so I just had enough time to take a quick look at your IMDb page.”
“I’ve been trying to get them to fix the caption under that photo for months,” Neil grumbled.
“No need to apologise,” Leanne said, shooting me a grin. “You not seeing the show is a good thing. That’s actually why we included so few details in the job description. We wanted to avoid having lots of fans apply. We’re looking for someone who wants to work hard, not someone who wants to be around famous people.”
“Right,” I said as it all fell into place. “Well then, you’ll be pleased to hear that being around famous people has zero draw for me. I’ve been temping for almost a year, so a full-time permanent job is my main goal.”
She smiled in a way that made me feel like I’d said the right thing. I chanced a peek at the man whose name I now knew was James, and he shot me a warm look that gave me an equally warm feeling in my chest.
The group continued to ask me questions about my interests and my work history. Then, before I knew it, the interview was over. I knew I was in there for the better part of a half an hour, but it felt like it whizzed by in a matter of seconds. All of a sudden, the legal secretary position wasn’t as appealing as it was before. After meeting who I’d be working for, a bunch of interesting, cool, exciting, and funny young people, I really wanted the PA job. It’d definitely beat working in a stuffy old solicitor’s office.
James stood to escort me from the room, leaning down to whisper reassuringly in my ear. “You did great. Everyone really liked you.”
“That’s such a relief to hear,” I said, surprised when he decided to walk me back to the lift. He pressed the button and waited with me while the numbers on the screen rose. “I thought I’d really messed things up at the beginning there.”
He smiled at me now, and again my chest warmed.
“Don’t fret it. You were wonderful,” he said, just as the doors slid open.
“Thanks.” I stepped on and, feeling bashful, turned back around to face him. “Say a prayer this thing doesn’t break down again.”
He held up his hand. “I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you.” And then the doors closed and he was gone.
All the way down, my heart wouldn’t stop thumping, a thrilling combination of anxiety and hope. I really, really wanted this job but probably not for the right reasons.
I suspected I was quickly developing a crush on a man called James, who might soon become my boss.
Three
Michaela
Present
“Oh my God, why did you make me listen to this? It’s so wrong,” Sarita complained as I entered our small Brixton flat.
Sarita and I shared a bedroom, but our third flatmate, Afric, had her own room. Afric, whose name meant ‘pleasant’ in Irish (which was hilarious if you knew her) made her living by recording herself playing video games for people to watch live on the internet. She had a large following, and though she was by no means rich, she made far more money than Sarita or me.
The three of us met when we were tweens and obsessed with the online game Greenforest. Our avatars became fast friends, and soon enough we were playing together every day. This probably explained why I had very little social life as a teenager, but then again, there wasn’t a whole lot for me to do in my little village anyway.
We made a pact that when we were old enough, we’d all move to London and get a flat together. It wasn’t the dream life we’d envisaged, and I’d spent my first six months in the city bouncing between temp jobs. We’d initially hoped to find a flat where we could each have our own room, but those hopes were quickly dashed. In the end we settled for a small two-bedroom, with Sarita and I sharing a room. It wasn’t perfect, but we made it work.
“Turn it off, please!” Sarita begged. “You’re killing my soul. I feel like my heart has fallen all the way to the bottom of my stomach.”
I entered Afric’s bedroom, where they both sat on her bed, laptop open while a song played.
“What’s going on?” I asked, curious.
“Afric’s trying to torture me,” Sarita complained, throwing up her hands dramatically.
Afric chuckled as she glanced at me, her bright blue eyes full of mirth. She got a great kick out of aggravating people, but not in a mean way. It was more of a mischievous thing.
“It’s a song composed by AI,” Afric explained. “It’s supposed to sound like the Beatles. I actually kind of like it.”
Sarita gaped at her. “How can you like this? It sounds so wrong. I can feel its wrongness in my bones.”
I took a moment to listen, while also making a note to tell James about AI music. It seemed like a topic that would be fun to discuss with him.
“I have to agree with Sarita,” I said. “It almost sounds normal, but there’s something slightly off that makes me feel weirdly queasy.”
“Thank you!” Sarita exclaimed.
“You two better get used to it. This is what your future children are going to be listening to,” Afric said.
“If my future children listen to this, I’ll beat them over the head with my collector’s edition Led Zeppelin vinyls,” Sarita countered. By day she was an office clerk, but by night she played guitar in a rock band. She was a musical purist, which was obviously why this robo-song upset her so much.
“All new pioneering forms of music are shunned in the beginning. People thought heavy metal was for Satanists, and that rap would make young people want to join gangs. Now we know those people were wrong and that they were two of the greatest genres of music ever created,” Afric affirmed.
“The difference is those genres have soul. There’s human heart and suffering behind the lyrics, behind the music. This has nothing of the sort.” Sarita flicked a hand, dismissing the song.
“Well, AI is created by humans, so technically there is heart behind it, if you trace it far enough back,” Afric said, looking pleased with her logic.
Sarita heaved a sigh. “Oh my God, I refuse to argue with you when you get like this.”
“As interesting as this discussion is, I’m starving,” I said. “Anyone in the mood for pizza?”
They both nodded enthusiastically, and I went out into the kitchen to grab my phone. Sarita followed me, plopping down on a stool by the counter.
“How was work?” she asked.
“It was fine, the usual,” I replied, not mentioning James because my crush on him was a secret I’d take to my grave. Yes, I was so ashamed of it that I couldn’t even bring myself to divulge the truth to my closest friends.
“That’s good to hear. I, on the other hand, had the most boring day ever. I swear offices were created by some devious lower demon as a slow, tedious form of death.”
“Do you have any gigs this weekend?” I asked and her eyes lit up. Sarita’s day job was a means to an end. Her passion was her music and playing shows was what she truly looked forward to.