Throwing Caution to the Colorful | Alex Turner

how high?

december, 2007 (manchester)

(two years later)

"LISTEN UP, MAGGOTS!"

Rupert Harrington, the stage manager at the Apollo Manchester, was a special breed of evil.

We (and by we, I mean the hapless souls unlucky enough to land jobs on the Apollo's stage crew) were gathered around Rupert in a dingy back hallway, awaiting whatever fresh hell he had for us to carry out.

"Now, I hope that you lot actually read the fucking bulletin board," He took a moment to glare at each of us. "-and already know that tonight is the most important night of your miserable lives."

"Ellie here-" Rupert clapped a hand on Ellie's shoulder. Ellie looked like she was about to hurl.

"-Will provide you with instructions regarding your duties tonight."

Ellie began passing out thick folders. There was a faint but collective groan from around the room.

"Hey. Hey!" Rupert glared at us. "I am willing and ready to fire any of you assholes at any moment. Remember - you are here to assist the professional  camera crew that's coming in. They tell you to jump, you better jump. And no complaints!"

Vance spoke up. "Um. Isn't the expression 'you ask how high?' Like, 'They tell you to jump, you ask how high?'"

Rupert pinched the bridge of his nose. "Vance, you are walking a thin fucking line."

Vance squeaked. "Sorry."

"And!" Rupert thumped a folder against his hand. "If I find out that any of this-" He waved it in front of our faces. "-has been leaked, the consequences will be...terrible beyond belief."

I didn't doubt him.

"NOW GET TO WORK, YOU FUCKING ANIMALS!"

Of course I opened my folder right away. 

We'd been getting vague but strict instructions about this "secret" concert for months, and I'd been itching for the full story ever since. Some musician, or group, or someone famous was planning to put on a performance, record it live with a camera crew, and broadcast it internationally, but without the typical promotion of a concert. Rupert really hadn't been exaggerating when he had said that this was the most important night of our miserable lives.

Although I would argue that my life wasn't that miserable. Things were looking up. I had been hired for a job working on some indie movie that was shooting out in New Zealand. I'd finally be free of this shit job.

It seemed like my entrance into the film industry was finally proceeding as planned.

I would have flown out a month earlier, but...

Let's just say that the paycheck for doing this night of stress and chaos was definitely nothing to laugh at. My back might hurt by the end of the night, but my bank account certainly wouldn't be.

So this was my last night at the Apollo, thankfully. 

I crossed my fingers as I turned to the front page, hoping that I'd finally be assigned a filming-related job, and not my usual duty of being everyone's assistant/part-time janitor.

Jude Cheng - multi-purpose assistant, supply runner, cleaning crew

Just my luck, apparently.

I skimmed through the first few pages, hoping for at least a nugget of good news. Hopefully whoever the performer was, they'd be at least halfway bearable.

When I reached the third page, about five lines down, I felt my heart stop still in my chest.

Client - The Arctic Monkeys 

No.

It couldn't be.

Not tonight, not with my mental state as it was, not with my hair as it was.

Maybe it was a mistake, maybe I had misread something -

But the shouting from the rest of the crew confirmed my fears.

"THE ARCTIC FUCKING MONKEYS?!" Vance was practically jumping up and down. "OH MY GOD THIS IS THE BEST BLOODY DAY OF MY LIFE!"

Ellie seemed to have gone catatonic in shock. David was screaming to someone on his phone. And Olivia was...crying tears of joy?

I was not going to survive this night.

I mean, I was actually pretty proud of how much I'd been able to avoid thinking about Alex and his band.

Sure, the first few months after they'd released their first record and been skyrocketed to ridiculous heights of fame had been almost impossible to get through, but I survived.

And I still was surviving. Barely.

I tried not to think about the fact that if I had just gotten Alex's fucking number, I could've avoided all of this.

I tried not to think about the fact that even if we had managed to become friends, we might still have drifted apart over those two years.

And I definitely tried not to think about the fact that as each day passed, he was less and less likely to remember me.  

But it was fine.

And I was fine.

I just needed to relax.

I would keep my head low, try not to make too much of a fool of myself, and avoid contact with the actual band, especially Alex, as much as possible.

Yeah.

That was a good plan.

I could do this.