The Eternal Intern (Contemporary Romantic Comedy) (7 page)

Mike was up before me as usual. We walked together to the station. Lucky me
; without him I don’t think I would have found my way.

Despite the cold night
, it was a beautiful, sunny morning. As we got to the station I followed Mike through the building. We walked through several corridors until we ended up in a big room filled with desks and people. It was the editor’s office. Nobody noticed us at the beginning. Phones were ringing and people were shouting radio jargon at each other. It was exactly the way I imagined it. Stressful but fun.  

“Pick up a newspaper and try to find some topics to talk about at the conference
,” Mike advised me.

I took a daily paper from a table at the entrance of the room and started flipping through it.

“OK. Let’s all sit together,” Ms. M’Beka voice sounded as she entered the room.

“By the way, this is Patrick our new intern
,” she introduced me.

“Hello
,” I said into the round.

There were about twenty faces looking at me. They welcomed me one after another.

“Topics?” Ms. M’Beka asked around.

“They are still having trouble down at city hall regarding the embezzlement of money through the mayor
,” one lady said.

“Is the mayor still refusing to talk?
” another asked.

“Ok. Stay on it Sandra
,” Ms. M’Beka commanded.

“Patrick why don’t you assist Sandra so you can get to learn how we work here
,” Ms. M’Beka suggested.

“Sure
, great!” I answered, excited about my first task.

Sandra had me make some phone calls and some internet research. It was not a lot
, but enough for me to get started. The day went well.

“Patrick, have you ever done this kind of work before?
” Sandra asked later in the day.

“No. Why?”

“Well, you are doing a good job,” she encouraged me.

“Thanks
,” I replied happily.

“I am going down for an interview to the mayor in a minute. It’s an exclusive one. Why don’t you join me?
” she offered.

“Me? Sure. I’d love to
,” I said excited.

“Grab your stuff and let’s get out of here
,” she said.

Then s
he threw a bag at me. “Check if the batteries are OK on the recorder,” she pleasantly commanded.

I played around with the machine for a bit.

“They’re full,” I replied.

“Great. Let’s go and play journalist
,” she smiled as she headed to the parking lot with me.

As we were driving to Town Hall Sandra told me that she had worked eight years for the station. She moved here from Belgium. She started as an intern but was offered a contract at the end of her stay. Now that I was single
and nothing pulled me back home that information sounded like music to my ears. She had been working for more than three months on this story and was determined to uncover the details. She called it the story of her lifetime.

“OK. Here we are. Get the stuff and follow me
,” she said as she stopped the engine in front of a massive gray building. 

I followed her up the steep steps to the main entrance of Town Hall. I felt important holding the microphone and recorder in my hand.

After waiting for a little bit we were ushered into a big conference room. The plastering on the ceiling was impressive. Former mayors and party leaders were looking down at us from their paintings on the wall. I felt intimidated.

“This is all just show
,” Sandra noticed my nervousness.

“He is in deep shit and is trying to play the big guy but we won’t let him
,” she motivated herself.

Suddenly the big doors at the end of the room swung open and in came the mayor followed by four of his employees.

After the obligatory greeting rituals Sandra set up the microphone and recorder.

“Mr. Natara, the people want to know: Did you embezzle the two million dollars?
” she started strong.

I was impressed by her determination. She wasn’t intimidated by the mayor’s show that he put on as he entered the room.

“It is not that easy. You have to understand…” he started to explain.

“Did you take the money or not? It’s a simple question
,” she interrupted him.

“As I just tried to say, things here are different a…”.

“…Mr. Natara with all due respect. Where is the money?” she fell into his words.

“Yes or no?” she pushed the microphone closed to him. “People like to talk a lot if someone is in power….
” he explained.

“…Sure they do. But here and now you have the chance to tell the truth and keep your face
,” she tried to encourage him.

Suddenly she got some papers out of her bag and laid them in front of him.  

“Here is a receipt showing that you have rented a house in St. Tropez, France for five months. Here is another receipt stating that you bought a horse and rented spots at the best stables in the country,” she kept going on and on with him with evidence that she must have collected over the last few months.

“Where do you have that from?
” the mayor asked, noticeably shocked.

I enjoyed watching the battle between the truth and the cover-up. It was clear that the mayor chose the wrong interview
er. He must have thought that he would walk out with a victory and make everyone believe his version.

“Mr. Natara, did you take the money?
” Sandra’s eyes focused on his lips.

“Well, it looks like you think you know the answer to that question already
,” he replied trying to buy some more time.

“A mayor is allowed to take money from the treasury to help his people
,” he explained.

“By people you mean your family and especially yourself?”. Sandra was onto something and she was not willing to let go.

“No, I didn’t say that,” his voice was filled with aggression.

“How else do you want to explain to us how you were able to afford the horse, the house, etc.?
” she asked again.

“Humans are not perfect and tend to make mistakes now and then. But we do learn from our mistakes
,” the mayor philosophized.

“Are you admitting that you DID take the two million?
” she leaned forward checking again if the recorder was running.

“I didn’t TAKE it
. I BORROWED it,” he finally blurted out.

Sandra couldn’t resist to smile. It was her victory that she’d worked so hard for. I was happy for her and I appreciated that she let me be part of this victory.

B
ack at the station she entered the editor’s office shouting “HE ADMITTED EVERYTHING!”

The people in the room
immediately started to applaud. Everybody went over to pat her shoulders or shake her hand.

“Let’s get it edited
ASAP and get the story on air,” Ms. M’Beka commanded.

“Sure. Give me ten
,” Sandra responded connecting the recorder to the computer. 

I sat beside her watching her editing the audio from the interview.

“OK. Let’s play it and listen to it again to get the best parts out of it,” she explained to me.

Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

“That’s weird” she said double checking the connection of the recorder and the computer.

“Why is there white noise?
” she mumbled.

“Let’s do it again
,” she told herself.

Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

She picked up the phone trying to get some assistance.

“Larry, it’s Sandra from the editor’s office. Can you get up here please and help me with dubbing the audio from the recorder to the computer……Great thanks.”.

“What’s wrong?,” I asked.

“If I only knew
,” she replied examining the recorder.

“Larry is our MacGyver. He’ll fix it
,” she said confidently.

Her hopes were solely lying on the technician now.

A tall skinny man approached us.

“Where’s the problem Sandi?
” he asked.

“I only hear white noise but we recorded an interview on it
,” she explained.

“OK. Did you check the batteries?”

“Yes. Well Patrick our new intern did,” she pointed at me.

“OK. But just let me double check. Nothing against you buddy
,” he smiled at me.

He tried to record his voice but as he played it there was only white noise.

“Mhhh,” he remarked.

I had a bad feeling about this. He pulled some batteries out of his pocket and replaced them with the ones in the recorder. Again, he recorded his voice.

I started to pray that the white noise will sound again. Sandra was biting on her lips looking at the recorder anxiously.

“Test, Test, One, Two, Three
,” the recorder blared.

“Sorry Sandra, the batteries were empty
,” he explained emotionless.

“WHAT? NO! THAT CAN’T BE?
” she screamed at the recorder.

I felt paralyzed. I knew that it was my fault.

Sandra stood up and went into Ms. M’Beka’s office.

I didn’t know what to do. I kept sitting there
, wanting to disappear.

After a few minutes Sandra approached me. Her face was redder than her shoulder long hair.

“It’s not your fault,” she assured me.

I sensed that she wasn’t too happy about what I did.

“I should have checked the batteries myself. It’s your first day,” she kept on looking for excuses not to blame me.

The rest of the day I sat in front of the computer trying to kill time until I could leave. It wasn’t the best start for me here
, but it was a start.

Back at the apartment Mike knew about what happened.

“Don’t worry. As I started here I messed up some things as well,” he said.

“You messed up an important interview as well?
” I asked.

“NOOOO. Never. That
was big, what you did,” he laughed, trying to cheer me up.

“Thanks
,” I replied sorrowfully sinking into the chair on the patio.

“I am planning on going to the countryside
on the weekend. There’s a farmer out there where a friend of mine once stayed. Do you want to join me?” he asked.

“Sure, why not
,” I replied, happy about any distraction I could get a hold of.

As I got to the station the next day it seemed like a day like any other. Everybody was on the phone and running around. It was a hectic busy morning. I looked over to Sandra and said hello. She looked up at me from her desk and smiled but didn’t stop typing into her PC as she was doing so. Suddenly, everybody got up to get together for the morning conference. I made some suggestions but they didn’t seem to go down that well.

The rest of the day I spent with getting to know the station and the studios. One of the DJ’s even had me on air for a few minutes reading out some local news stuff. It was nice. I was able to move on from the disaster that I caused the day before. The rest of the week was quiet. I was looking over everybody’s shoulders and try to suck up all the information I could get. I started to truly enjoy myself.

As the weekend arrived we got up early Saturday morning to drive out to the farmer. Mike rented a car the day before. It was a long drive through the middle of nowhere. We were driving for nearly five hours
straight when we saw a few houses appearing on the horizon.

“That must be it
,” Mike said excitedly.

He pulled the car into a small dusty side street. The six buildings were arranged in a big circle.

As we got out of the car dogs came barking at us.

“Be quiet boys
,” a man walking towards us said. “Mike?” he asked my roommate.

“Tim. Thanks for having us
,” Mike smiled at him.

“Let my workers get your bags
,” he said.

“Follow me inside. You must be thirsty”.

The sun was reflecting of his bald head. We settled into his kitchen. The wooden bench was hard to sit on. Tim’s deep blue eyes were scanning the two of us.

“This is my friend Patrick
,” Mike explained.

“Thanks for having us
,” I said.

“The more the merrier
,” Tim responded happily.

“Here is some ice tea
,” Tim’s wrinkly bony hand pushed a big jug over to us.