Nothing But Trouble

by Matt Cain

  Harvey stepped forward and put his arm around her.

  ‘You did it, Lola,’ he said, pulling her towards him. ‘You really did it.’

  ‘No, we did it, Harvey,’ she corrected him. ‘We did this together.’

  They watched Billy as he fought through the applause to explain that he was in London to shoot a movie but had wanted to come here today to introduce an artist whose music he’d fallen in love with during his time in the UK – and one he was really excited about breaking through in America. Oh my God, thought Lola, can this actually be happening?

  As the crowd roared at the first mention of her name, she felt Harvey squeezing her hand.

  ‘Off you go, Trouble. We might have done this together but it’s you they’re cheering for.’

  She nodded solemnly and took to the stage.

  *

  From his position near the front of the golden circle, Freddy was so taken aback by the thunderous applause he instinctively ducked for cover. Wow! Lola hasn’t opened her mouth yet and already they’re going mad for her.

  ‘Hiya everyone!’ she cheeped in her south London accent. ‘Are you all having a good time?’ The response was almost deafening and the audience surged towards her. ‘Good to hear it. But don’t go anywhere just yet – because the fun’s only just starting . . .’

  As the band began playing the opening notes to Lost in Love, Freddy drank in Lola’s every detail. She was dressed all in white, wearing a fitted waistcoat, a bandana tied in a bow and trousers held up with a patent leather belt onto which was attached the battery pack for her earpiece. Glinting in the low evening sun, a diamanté belt buckle, hoop earrings and bracelet complemented a sparkling letter L that hung around her neck. She looked incredible.

  ‘Fuck me!’ whistled his friend Rhodri, standing next to him wearing a T-shirt emblazoned with the slogan Beaver Patrol. ‘She. Is. FIT. AS.’ The two of them had been drinking lager in the sun all afternoon and it had clearly gone to Rhodri’s head. ‘I mean, she ain’t a beauty or anything but I bet she’s a cracking ride.’

  Freddy tried not to baulk. ‘All right, champ, take it easy.’

  Rhodri didn’t take his eyes off the stage. ‘No but seriously mate, I’d love a go on that.’

  ‘All right, all right! I get the picture.’

  Rhodri turned to look at him and raised an eyebrow. ‘Well, somebody’s a bit touchy. Got a thing for her, have you?’

  ‘Don’t be daft. She’s a massive star − she wouldn’t look twice at me.’

  ‘Well, she was flirting with you on telly last night – and it wasn’t the first time.’

  Freddy thought back to the interview he’d recorded on the set of Lola’s video shoot. The chemistry between them had made such an impact on him that he hadn’t been able to think about anything else since. Spike was supposedly asking Harvey to find out if she wanted to go out on a date, but he’d told him to be subtle and he hadn’t heard anything since. But once the interview had broadcast last night he’d been inundated with people commenting on the flirtation between them and asking what he was going to do about it. Rhodri was only the latest in the long line.

  ‘Seriously, mate,’ his friend slurred, ‘you want to get in there. I mean, get a load of those blow job lips – I bet she could suck a rugby ball through a hosepipe.’

  ‘Oh give it a rest, Rhodri. I’m on it, all right? But right now I wouldn’t mind watching her show.’

  ‘Whatever you say, mate. Whatever you say.’

  The two of them turned back to the stage and watched in wonderment as Lola scorched her way through her first number. Freddy tried to catch her eye but knew it was a long shot. And besides, she clearly had much more important things to think about than him. In fact, she was so immersed in her performance it was as if she wasn’t really present – or that her energy was so intense it was somehow lifting her above the audience so the only way they could respond was by looking on in adulation.

  Freddy had arrived at Hyde Park just before the show opened, assured of access to the golden circle for him and a guest. He’d been released from all work commitments for the day as broadcast rights to the show had been given exclusively to the BBC. At first he’d been disappointed to miss out on the chance of another meeting with Lola. But so far it had been an incredible day. The line-up of talent was outstanding and between performances the anti-drugs charity had used the screens at either side of the stage to play films about their work helping young people whose lives had been destroyed by addiction. It had all combined to create a very special atmosphere, helped in no small part by the blazing hot sunshine, which had people taking their tops off and spraying themselves with water to cool down. Earlier in the day Freddy had been plagued by hassle from people who recognized him but it was all good-natured and seemed to have calmed down now. Everyone was much too interested in the action unfolding on stage. And so far there was no question that Lola was proving the highlight.

  ‘Do you want to hear some more?’ she growled as Lost in Love boomed to its finish. She cupped her ear playfully, pretending not to hear the loud cheer crash through the crowd. ‘I said, do you want to hear some more?’

  The intro to Tramp began blistering its way through the applause and two male dancers marched onto the stage at either side of Lola. She looked at them impishly. ‘This song’s for all those trampy men out there. And all the girls who won’t put up with them anymore!’

  Leaning onto him to steady himself, Rhodri gave a loud wolf whistle and Freddy recoiled with his finger in his ear.

  ‘Now I want to see everyone dancing!’ Lola yelled. ‘And that includes you, Freddy Jones!’

  Freddy reeled as a hundred thousand people turned to face him. Rhodri’s mouth fell open and he dropped his can of lager on Freddy’s foot.

  ‘Come on, darlin’,’ Lola yowled, her eyes sparkling at him from the stage. ‘I know you’re not a tramp but I still want to see you dancing!’

  A grin lifted his face as two cameras swept in to shoot his reaction. But all he could hear was Rhodri gasping for breath next to him.

  ‘Fuck me, mate. You are well in there!’

  *

  Lola took a few seconds to catch her breath and waited for the applause to die down. She couldn’t believe how well the show was going; the energy of the audience was spurring her on to give what she’d known she needed to deliver – her best performance ever. Feeling the impact of a hundred thousand people clapping to the beat of her music instilled in her a happiness more intense than she’d ever imagined possible. And to top it all, she’d spotted Freddy in the audience. He was here after all! She stopped to collect herself and wiped her brow with the back of her hand. Gloria stepped forward and handed her a bottle of water. She nodded her thanks and took a long swig.

  ‘My God it’s so hot up here,’ she puffed to the audience, ‘I’m sweating like a whore in confession.’ There was an eruption of laughter. ‘Sorry, but you know me – about as subtle as a fart in the bath.’ The laughter doubled.

  ‘Anyway, I just want to be serious for a minute and tell you how made up I am to be taking part in this event today. I’m sure everyone knows that drug abuse has had a major impact on my life – and particularly my childhood. And I know from the experience of my own family just how much damage it can cause.’

  The crowd settled into a respectful silence.

  ‘But what I think’s so important about this concert today is that it really sends out a message that, however low you think you might’ve sunk, there’s still a way out. And the more money we raise, the more people we can help find that way out.’

  Someone yelled their support from way back in the distance and Lola could feel her poise crumbling. She thought about her mum sitting watching her on TV in the rehab centre and felt compelled by a need to speak directly to her – to say something affectionate or even loving that she’d be able to use as encouragement to fight her addiction. But she just couldn’t do it.

  She thought of the lonely l
ittle girl she’d once been, trailing around after a mum she loved so much, a mum for years she hadn’t even realized had been so broken. She was the only mum she’d known, which was why she’d cuddled up to the dead weight of her body as she lay racked by depression, rolling around on the filthy floor during yet another crack comedown. As she pictured the scene now, a tear sprang from her eye and ran down her cheek. She wiped it with the corner of her hand and tried to compose herself. There was just one more song to go and the last thing she needed now was to give in to an emotional meltdown. She forced her lips into a tight smile.

  ‘Anyway, please give as much money as you can. Because I promise every penny of it will make a difference. And help people like me come out fighting.’

  A low rumble of encouragement issued from the audience and began to build steadily. Lola jumped up and down on the spot and snapped her mic off its stand.

  ‘OK, let’s get back to business. I hope you all enjoy this next song. Come on boys, hit it!’

  *

  As she stood at the back of the stage watching Lola turn on the tears, Gloria tried not to curl up her lip in distaste. Here she goes again, milking the whole junkie mum thing. It was quite pathetic really and Gloria didn’t understand why anyone bothered listening. Every artist had a sob story but some of them weren’t so tacky as to wheel it out at every available opportunity. And anyway, she didn’t see what the big deal was. Are we all supposed to feel sorry for Lola just because her mum can’t take her drugs?

  The band launched into the intro to their final number and Gloria began her usual moronic swaying from side to side. As she delivered her vocals with a pained expression on her face, all she could think was that she should be the one headlining this show – not Lola. For what it was worth, she had a much better voice and she’d trained as a professional dancer so could dance Lola off the stage. She was much better looking too and had spent thousands having her teeth and boobs done before Lola had come along and snatched her career away from her. But here she was now, confined to a dark corner where hardly anyone could see her. This morning she’d left Chanelle sitting in front of the TV with her mum, the two of them waiting to catch a glimpse of Gloria on screen. Her mum hadn’t been able to resist asking if they bothered shooting close-ups of the backing singers. Gloria had refrained from giving her a mouthful, only to find herself positioned so far upstage she had a cat in hell’s chance of featuring in a single shot, never mind a close-up. She could hear her mum crowing about it now.

  She looked out onto the crowd and couldn’t believe none of them could see Lola for the talentless charlatan she was. And what Gloria found most galling was she was so two-faced. Just today she’d been chatting away to her backstage, doing her best to calm her nerves, until Shereen Spicer had appeared and Lola had turned around and blanked her. The whole experience had been utterly crushing and had destroyed Gloria’s confidence just before she went on stage. Not that Lola cared. The only thing Lola cared about was herself.

  It was just so frustrating that the hundred thousand fans crammed into Hyde Park were oblivious to what she was really like. As Lola reached the end of her set and took a bow, they gave her the loudest applause of the day. After what seemed like an eternity of wallowing in the adulation, she finally led the band offstage. They all clattered down the rickety stairs and back into the artists’ holding area, where Gloria forced herself to join in the self-congratulatory whooping and cheering.

  ‘Well done, Gloria!’ Lola frothed. ‘That was blatantly fierce!’

  ‘Yeah, thanks, Lola,’ she forced herself to reply. ‘You really smashed it!’

  As Lola leant in for a hug, Gloria couldn’t help feeling a stab of guilt. She hated it when Lola was nice to her – it only made things worse.

  But then Lola suddenly broke away and ran over to her assistant, a few minutes later bounding back to Gloria with an envelope.

  ‘Gloria, darlin’, could you do me a favour?’

  ‘Yeah, course, what is it?’

  ‘Could you nip and find Freddy Jones and give him these? They’re tickets to the after-show party.’

  Gloria’s mouth fell open. Had she just heard her right? The cheek of it! What was she, Lola’s errand girl?

  ‘I mean, I’d ask Amina to do it normally,’ Lola went on, ‘but she’s got to come with me to do all the press.’

  She gestured towards a scrum of journalists, cameramen and radio reporters all vying for prime position behind a long velvet rope. Not a single one of them recognized Gloria.

  ‘No, it’s fine, Lola,’ she found herself saying, ‘don’t worry about it.’

  ‘Did you see where he was standing? At the front of the golden circle?’

  Oh, I saw him all right, I saw you throw yourself at him like some total slapper. And while they were on the subject, wasn’t Lola supposed to be after Jake? Or would she drop her knickers for anyone?

  ‘Yeah, I know where he is,’ she managed to breathe reassuringly. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll find him.’

  ‘Come on, doll!’ called out Lola’s publicist. ‘Everyone’s waiting!’

  ‘Thanks, Gloria,’ Lola said, touching her arm. ‘You’re a real mate.’

  As she watched her trot off towards the press area, Gloria fanned herself with the party passes. She couldn’t believe it. Lola actually expected her to wade through the crowd of pissheads and hand them over to some bloke she wanted to get off with. She wondered if she was deliberately trying to insult her.

  And then it suddenly occurred to her that she didn’t actually have to do it. She could pretend she’d looked for Freddy but he’d moved on and she couldn’t find him. Surely that kind of thing happened all the time in a crowd this size? That would certainly teach Lola not to treat her like some kind of gopher she could boss about whenever she wanted a quick shag.

  But she couldn’t really do something as underhand as that. Could she?

  *

  By midnight the after-show party was in full swing. Jake stood leaning against the ornate wrought-iron balcony of the elegant Café du Palais and looked down to survey the scene.

  In the DJ booth, Candy Lunt was playing a dance remix of the latest single by Rihanna. On the dance floor, Shereen Spicer and Lucy Cantrell were so off their faces they were staggering their way through some kind of lesbian act as Ace Bounder looked on, leering. Blake Striker was becoming less and less masculine the more whisky he drank and was currently puckering his lips, twiddling his hair and launching himself at Buck Andrews and Slam Carter, neither of whom was remotely responding but both of whom couldn’t help being fascinated by his transformation. And some tart-looking politician called Lavinia Trout was drinking herself red-nosed on neat gin, wailing like a Spanish widow about everyone hating her to a group of sallow-faced, out-of-shape brown-nosers with cheap suits and coffee-stained teeth. And through it all clicked a high-heeled flat-chested waitress who seemed to think miming a look of extreme boredom in the face of major celebs letting their hair down made her look the height of cool. Hmpf, thought Jake, I could think of a way of making her look a little less cool . . .

  But he reminded himself that tonight he had a prior assignation. Thanks to his little routine on the set of the video for Tramp, Jake knew that tonight Lola was all his. And once he’d upped the ante, he couldn’t get over how easy it had been. All I had to do was flash my eyes, touch her cheek and then move in for a little kiss and she was practically frothing at the snatch. He thought back to the way she’d been looking at him in rehearsals since. He wondered how she’d be looking later – when he was inside her.

  He quickly glanced at himself in what was obviously a fake antique mirror. He scraped his fingers through his hair and stroked the bristles on his chin. Man, you are one smoking-hot sonofabitch. He treated himself to a quick flash of his sloppy grin and then turned to walk down the sweeping staircase and join the party.

  As he entered the unsteady throng he was overwhelmed by the smell of champagne farts and beer burps. He wrinkled hi
s nose in disgust. Sure, everyone here had leapt to the stage to denounce the dangers of taking drugs, but Jake wasn’t sure their consumption of booze was any more laudable. He tutted as he thought of how smug Ruby Marlow looked to have substituted her usual penchant for cocaine with enough champagne to drown a cartel of drug barons. He shook his head and stepped out of the way to avoid colliding with Slam Carter, who fell over a chair in his rush to escape Blake Striker.

  Now where’s Lola? As he leant on the bar to get a better view, his hand slipped into a puddle of spilled beer. He shook it off with a scowl. All right, this might be a classy venue with an all-star guest list, but right now it didn’t strike him as being much different to any of the dives he’d been dipping into late at night to pick up an easy lay.

  And speaking of easy lays . . .

  He scanned the room and spotted Lola breaking away from a huddle of honchos who were clambering over each other to praise her performance. He watched as she gestured to Gloria and took her to one side. He stood on his tiptoes to peer over the mob and catch her eye. It took a while but after a few minutes his gaze finally locked onto hers. He gave just a flicker of a smile and saw her cheek tremble. This is it, he thought.

  As he made his way through the melee towards them, he could just about catch a few snippets of their conversation. ‘I’m sorry,’ he heard Gloria saying, ‘but I couldn’t find him anywhere, honestly.’

  ‘Oh it’s all right, darlin’,’ Lola replied, clearly shit-faced. ‘Thanks for trying.’

  He hovered just a few feet away until Lola excused herself and made her way over.

  ‘Hiya,’ she slurred.

  ‘Hey,’ he breathed.

  Just then Candy Lunt changed the song and began playing the latest single by Nicki Minaj.

  ‘Oh I love this song!’ Lola shouted over the music.

  He pretended he couldn’t hear so she’d have to lean in. ‘Excuse me?’