Do Me a Favour - Alex Turner

1. The Calm Before The Storm

It was just a normal day. The kind of day that begins with the groggy, reluctant crawl from the warmth of my bed to the shockingly cold floor of my tiny apartment. I had bought this place in a burst of optimism right after college, a shoebox of a studio in the heart of Chicago. Despite its size, I loved it. The old brick walls, the creaky wooden floors, and the perpetually leaky faucet in the bathroom all held a certain charm that felt like home.

I rubbed my eyes, trying to clear the remnants of sleep, and shuffled to the kitchenette. My morning ritual began with coffee-strong, black, and absolutely necessary. I flipped on the ancient coffee maker and listened to it gurgle to life. As the rich aroma filled the air, I grabbed my phone from the counter and scrolled through the notifications. A few messages from friends, a couple of news alerts, and an email from my editor, marked urgent. I rolled my eyes. What now?

But first, coffee. I cradled the warm mug in my hands, savoring the first sip as it warmed me from the inside out. Only then did I open the email.

"Lana, we need to talk about your next assignment. Swing by my office this morning. It's big."

I groaned. "Big" usually meant "inconvenient." I loved my job, but it often required me to dive headfirst into chaos. I glanced at the clock and realized I had about thirty minutes to get ready. So much for a leisurely morning.

I tossed on my favorite jeans, a black turtleneck, and my trusty leather jacket. My hair, a tangled mess of dark curls, resisted any attempt at taming, so I let it be. A swipe of mascara and a dash of lip balm, and I was as ready as I was going to get. I grabbed my bag, my notebook, and a pen-my weapons of choice-and headed out the door.

The walk to the office was brisk. The morning air had a bite to it, even though it was mid-spring. Chicago never failed to keep you on your toes. The streets were bustling with people, each lost in their own world, rushing to jobs, appointments, or simply escaping the chill.

I reached the building, a nondescript high-rise that housed the editorial offices of Indie Pulse, the music magazine I worked for. The elevator ride to the fourth floor was mercifully quick, and I made a beeline for my editor's office.

Mark Reynolds was already at his desk, buried under a pile of papers and magazines. He looked up as I entered, his face breaking into a grin.

"Lana, come in, sit down."

I plopped into the chair opposite him, raising an eyebrow. "What's so urgent, Mark? Did the world of indie rock implode overnight?"

"Not quite," he chuckled. "But we do have a new assignment for you. It's high profile."

I waited, watching as he rummaged through his papers, finally producing a press release. He slid it across the desk to me.

"Arctic Monkeys are going on tour. We want you to cover it."

I blinked, then laughed. "You're joking, right? I thought we had a mutual understanding. I cover the up-and-coming bands, the underground scenes. Arctic Monkeys? They're as mainstream as it gets."

"That's exactly why I want you on this. We need your perspective, your depth. You can bring something new to the coverage, something authentic."

I sighed, leaning back in my chair. "Mark, you know how I feel about Alex Turner. The guy's insufferable."

"All the more reason," he said, leaning forward. "Think of it as a challenge. And besides, you might find there's more to him-and the band-than you think."

I stared at the press release, my mind racing. Covering a tour like this was a big deal. It could be a career-defining piece. But spending weeks on the road with Alex Turner? That sounded like a nightmare.