by Matt Cain
I’ve had enough of womanizers. And enough of falling for members of the band! From now on she was sticking to nice guys –nice guys like Freddy Jones . . .
As Harvey led her through to the rehearsal room she was greeted by ageing rocker Mike Henry, who’d served as her musical director since the start of her career – and had been personally responsible for putting together what would now be her third band. Although she’d never really bonded with Mike in the way she had with Harvey, she thought of him as a kindly uncle and knew that she could trust him without question.
‘All right, darlin’?’ She greeted Mike with a warm hug and he patted her on the back with real affection.
‘All set?’ he asked her.
‘Yep, come on, I’m dying to meet everyone.’
Mike guided her into the room and introduced her to guitarist Danny, who looked about twelve years old, had the worst sloping shoulders she’d ever seen and hair that made him look like he’d had electric shock treatment; keyboardist Smudge, who had dark sweat patches under his arms and thick brown hair sprouting out of his nose, his ears and even the back of his neck; and bassist Chuck, who was definitely the runt of the litter, with one brown eye and one blue eye, a bulbous, penis-veined nose, and a face like a punched lasagna. Hmmm, I’m beginning to see a running theme here.
‘Well, it’s great to meet you all!’ she gushed, a little too enthusiastically.
‘Great to meet you too,’ the band beamed back at her.
Although she’d entered the room vowing never again to fall for a member of the band, now that Mike had introduced her to the ugliest line-up ever assembled she couldn’t help feeling disappointed.
‘Happy?’ whispered Harvey in her ear.
‘Ecstatic!’ she fizzed, hoping no one could see she was grinding her teeth.
The more she thought about it the more it became obvious there’d been some kind of plan to save her from temptation by avoiding hiring anyone on the right side of even average-looking. And although she appreciated that what mattered was how they played their instruments, the realization only made her feel rebellious and want to get off with one of them anyway. Oh I know I said I wasn’t going to fall for anyone else in the band but fancying someone always makes touring so much more fun!
‘Now you must be the BVs,’ she said, addressing two beautiful black women who stepped forward and introduced themselves as backing vocalists Gloria and Sharonne. Hmpf! It’s all right for the blokes to have something to look at but what about us girls?
She bit her tongue and carried on smiling.
*
Gloria bit her tongue and leaned in to give Lola a kiss on the cheek, just about managing to force out a little smile. This was the moment she’d been dreading – the moment she came face-to-face with the woman who’d ruined her life. But she couldn’t think about that now. No, if she was going to make any kind of success of this job she absolutely couldn’t think about that.
But God, it was hard. The second she’d set eyes on Lola she’d felt a bitterness so strong she could almost hear it ringing in her ears. She’d had to grit her teeth and join in as Lola received a round of applause just for walking into the room. How could that kind of adulation not corrupt a person? Well, it obviously had with Lola.
For a start she seemed so wrapped up in herself she couldn’t even remember that she and Gloria had already met. Talk about insulting. They’d actually hung out together a few times in the early days of Gloria’s solo career; they’d got drunk at a music industry party and the following week had bumped into each other in the recording studio. But why should Lola remember? So many wonderful things have happened to her since then. Unlike Gloria, whose entire life had fallen apart.
She did her best to suppress the memories and told herself not to give in to bitterness. No, there was only one way she was ever going to get through this. And unless she wanted to live the rest of her life in abject poverty, she absolutely had to get through this. She plastered a smile over her pain and took hold of Lola’s hand.
‘You know, I can’t wait for the tour!’ she managed, throwing in a giggle for good measure. ‘Us girls are going to have so much fun!’
*
Before long Lola was chatting to the girls as if they were old friends. In fact, she was pretty sure she knew Gloria from somewhere but was too embarrassed to say. She’d thought it would come to her during the course of the conversation, but by the time she realized it wasn’t going to, it would have been rude to ask. However, she was glad she and Sharonne were in the band – the three of them could have fun girl-time together to make up for the disappointment of the shocking lack of hotties.
Just as she and the girls were going to try out their harmonies, the door swung open and in waltzed a tall man with long, messy hair, a few days’ stubble and thick, muscular arms.
‘Hey guys!’ he called out in an American accent. ‘Sorry I’m late. I’ve had a bitch of a trip – my freakin’ plane was delayed by three hours.’
Well, well, well, thought Lola. This is more like it . . .
He strode towards them, dragging a battered old suitcase behind him. As he drew nearer, Lola saw that his chestnut hair was complemented by piercing green eyes and a sloppy grin which was nothing short of mesmeric. In fact, he was so head-turningly good-looking he probably induced whiplash wherever he went. Witness the fitness!
‘You must be Lola,’ he said, stepping towards her and looking deep into her eyes. ‘I’m Jake, Jake Hunter. Your new drummer.’
‘Ah, nice to meet you, Jake.’
As she flashed him a blast of her pop-star sparkle, out of the corner of her eye she spotted Harvey take Mike to one side and whisper something urgently in his ear. Aha, so I was right – he must have told Mike to hire the ugliest band ever. So how on earth did this Jake slip through the net?
*
Harvey watched Lola’s face brighten as she spoke to Jake and his heart sank like a knackered lift. The band’s new drummer was so good-looking he could probably have any woman he wanted. And in Harvey’s experience, that kind of knowledge could only ever corrupt a man.
Coming to terms with that little life lesson had been a long and torturous learning process he still remembered well. And as he often recognized aspects of his younger self in Lola, he knew she’d find it impossible to resist a man like Jake. But somehow this Jake had slipped through the net he’d tried to construct to protect her from more heartache. Mike had said something about only communicating with him via email but had insisted that his contact had told him he ‘wasn’t much to look at’. When he asked who’d made the recommendation, it turned out it had come from a female drummer who’d been unable to accept the gig herself because she was expecting a baby with her lesbian life partner. Harvey let out a long sigh. He really hoped Lola didn’t make the same mistake with Jake as she had with Nicky and Fox.
Then again, he thought, maybe I’m just turning into an old cynic. There were plenty of people who he was sure would say he was walking straight into the same trap with Spike, chasing after some kid who could have whoever he wanted and who was probably only interested in him because he was Lola Grant’s manager. He was pretty sure that wasn’t Spike’s intention, that he’d picked up on a genuine and gentle soul hiding behind the hip, tough exterior. But how can you ever know for sure?
If finding out about men had been a long and torturous learning process, Harvey wasn’t sure he’d reached the end of it yet. And judging from her reaction to Jake, Lola hadn’t got anywhere near as far as he had.
*
Lola watched Jake introduce himself to the other members of the band and was entranced by his every movement. He really was one of the sexiest men she’d ever seen. But as she saw the effect he had on the backing vocalists, instantly reducing them from feisty women to giggling schoolgirls, she reminded herself that she’d vowed never again to get involved with anyone in her band. And if she should have spotted that Fox and Nicky were trouble, then this Jake was a disaster
waiting to happen.
But oh, those eyes . . .
She suddenly felt a clutch of fear. Her imagination jumped ahead of her and conjured up all kinds of messy outcomes if she so much as spent a single night with him. No, I absolutely can’t go there. And besides, she was looking forward to seeing Freddy Jones again. Surely he’d take the hint and return her sunglasses soon?
As she watched Jake unpacking and assembling the various parts of his kit, she consoled herself with the idea of some harmless flirtation. Yeah, if Mike and Harvey were so convinced she couldn’t control herself then she’d just have to wind them up by drooling all over Jake. You never know, I might teach them a lesson in the process.
At that moment Jake glanced up and caught her staring at him. He gave her a cheeky wink and she returned it with a cute little wave.
Well, I was looking for some fun – and I reckon I might just have found it.
3
The loud ring of his cell phone jolted Jake Hunter out of a deep sleep. He’d already slept through his alarm and the hotel wake-up call but knew he couldn’t put off getting up any longer. The car to take him to today’s rehearsal had just arrived – and he really needed to spring into action.
‘Hey, man,’ he rasped into his phone, ‘I’ll be down in ten minutes.’
Of course he knew it would take him way longer than ten minutes to get ready but the driver would just have to wait. At least now I’ve spoken to him he’ll quit hounding my ass.
He dragged himself onto the edge of the bed and looked at his watch. He was due at rehearsals in half an hour and knew there was no way he’d make it in time. He rubbed his eyes and hauled himself up and onto his feet.
Last night he’d spent hours drinking in Shoreditch with an old American buddy who was in town on a business trip. Just before midnight the two of them had ended up staggering into a lap-dancing bar called Rack and Crack. Several strips and countless shots later Jake had risked breaking the no-touching rule with one of the girls, a leggy brunette who’d been all over him since he’d told her he was the drummer in Lola Grant’s band. But far from having him thrown out she’d led him through to a back room where she’d jerked him off to the sound of Lost in Love. And he couldn’t remember much else, except that it hadn’t taken him long to whisk her back to his hotel room where they’d spent the rest of the night having sex – and it had been wild.
He looked at the girl now, her long hair fanning out on the pillow around her, a couple of the cheap extensions which had broken loose scattered on the crumpled sheets by her feet. Her make-up and fake tan were smeared all over the white pillow and her tacky perfume was still so strong it was filling his nostrils and turning his stomach. He suddenly realized he couldn’t remember her name. Was it Caroline? Candy? Candice?
He lugged himself over to the bathroom to pour a glass of water, picking his way through a room which when he’d moved in had been the essence of immaculately ordered minimalism but now looked like a bombed-out rathole. He almost stood in an ashtray full of the discarded butts of smoked joints and had to stop himself tripping over the girl’s lacy red thong and perspex hooker heels. A pair of fur-lined handcuffs was hanging off the bedpost next to a leather whip and something he assumed was a sex toy but could just as easily have been a cheese grater. How the hell did we use that?
At the bottom of the bed he saw that his video camera was set up on its tripod and remembered that halfway through the evening he’d had the idea of making a sex tape so he could revisit the smoking-hot session if he ever had a night alone. Not that he was alone very often – and so far he’d been pleased to discover that the girls in London were proving to be just as receptive to his charms as they were anywhere else in the world. But he never knew when his luck was going to run out. Although it isn’t showing any signs of running out just yet.
He rewound the tape and pressed Play. As last night’s action unfurled before him he couldn’t help raising an eyebrow. Aha, so that’s how we used the cheese grater. When the girl on screen began to howl like a demented animal he broke into a confident smirk. You’re the man, Jake! You’re the man! He heard a whimper behind him and realized the recording of the girl’s own howls was about to wake her up. He hit Eject and tossed the tape into his suitcase.
Trying not to make any noise, he sloped into the bathroom, turned on the shower and slid under the hot deluge. As he soaped himself all over he couldn’t help feeling a shudder of satisfaction: yet again he’d got laid and yet again he’d delivered a dynamite performance. The very thought of it made him feel special. It made him feel alive.
In order to keep the supply of sex steady, over the years he’d learned to adapt his raw lust into more socially acceptable forms of flirting. Someone had once told him the key to success with women was to tell the pretty ones they were clever and the clever ones they were pretty. Jake had wasted no time putting this theory into practice and had been thrilled to discover that it worked without fail. Although it did have its drawbacks: last night in the taxi home he’d had to feign interest while the dumb lap dancer wittered on about her hopeless ambition to be a Shakespearean actress. That part of the night he unfortunately could remember. But it had all been worth it in the end. Boy, had it been worth it.
As he padded back into the room he took another look at the girl in bed and ran his fingers through his wet hair. He wondered whether he could sneak away without bothering to say goodbye. Sure, he revelled in the pleasure of the pursuit, and of course he loved the sex that followed. But the postcoital aftermath could sometimes be a major pain in the ass.
One thing was for sure: he couldn’t go anywhere without styling his hair – even if switching on the hairdryer was bound to wake her up. But creating that messy, just-got-out-of-bed look that gave the impression he hadn’t spent any time on it was a complicated operation and one that easily took Jake half an hour every morning. As he began his expert blow-dry, he looked at his reflection in the mirror and couldn’t help thinking how lucky he was. It was every straight man’s fantasy to have sex with a different woman every night and here he was living that life. Sometimes girls he met put him under pressure to settle down – especially if he carried on seeing them for a few weeks. But why would he want to put restrictions on his pleasure when he’d only just turned thirty? And anyway, who wants to settle? Isn’t that what dust does?
Reflected over his shoulder he saw the girl begin to stir in bed.
‘Morning,’ she called out.
He switched off the hairdryer and slid it into a drawer. ‘Hey, I was just getting ready for work.’
The girl gave a big stretch and one of her boobs slipped out from under the sheet. Well, it’s obviously fake but it’s still pretty awesome.
‘Oh but aren’t you coming back to bed?’ she purred.
‘Jeez, I’d love to but I really can’t.’
‘Are you sure?’ she cooed, sitting up to reveal both boobs.
Jake could feel an erection begin to tent his towel. Man, she is one fine-looking piece of ass.
He looked at his watch. He was already late and if he didn’t set off now he really was going to get his ass whipped. But he’d seen the way Lola had looked at him the day they’d met and she might be a big star but he could tell that deep down she wasn’t that different from all the other girls. Maybe one day he’d have some fun finding out. Right now, though, there was someone else demanding his attention. And however late he was, he was sure Lola would forgive him.
*
Across town, Harvey and Spike were strolling along the South Bank as the sun sparkled down at them from high in the sky.
‘Isn’t this amazing?’ gushed Harvey, stretching his arms up in the air.
‘Yeah, man,’ agreed Spike. ‘It’s beast.’
It was the first time the two of them had met since Lola’s album launch. It had been a busy week for Harvey, what with the album campaign moving into overdrive and most of his time taken up arranging her next video shoot, an appearance at a huge
anti-drugs benefit gig and an extensive promotional tour of Europe. Not to mention dance auditions and creative meetings for the massive tour she’d be opening in the autumn. But this hadn’t meant he’d stopped thinking about Spike – far from it. And this morning he’d worked himself up into such a fluster as he was getting ready for their date that he’d forgotten to walk his pet pug Pickle – and the dog had ended up relieving himself all over the outfit Harvey was planning to wear.
It wouldn’t have been so bad if choosing what to wear for a date with a hip twenty-five-year-old hadn’t already posed Harvey all kinds of problems. For a start, he was approaching the age when he had to start worrying about looking like mutton dressed as lamb, but at the same time he didn’t want to put Spike off by drawing attention to the fact that he was so much older. Not that thirty-five was particularly old, but Harvey was painfully aware that when he was twenty-five it would have seemed ancient. In the end he’d settled for a pair of trendy blue jeans which Lola’s stylist Trixie had given him after she’d worked on a fashion shoot for an upmarket men’s magazine and a fitted white shirt which showed off his swimmer’s physique. He’d rounded off the look with his latest retro Ray-Ban sunglasses and as he walked forward in the sunshine he was feeling confident and upbeat.
‘Well, it’s really good to see you,’ he said.
‘Yeah, you too, blud. You must be proper manic at the moment.’
‘Yeah, it has been quite bonkers, to be honest. But bonkers is good. Everyone wants a piece of Lola right now.’
‘And I suppose it’s your job to make sure they all get it.’
‘Yeah but I’ve also got to make sure she doesn’t get eaten alive in the process.’
‘Oh yeah,’ he smirked, his gold tooth sparkling in the sun. ‘I didn’t think about that.’
‘That’s because you’re a big bad journalist and it’s your job to hope everything goes wrong. Then you can pounce and reveal all the gory details.’