Nothing But Trouble

by Matt Cain

  He only hoped she didn’t do anything else stupid in the meantime.

  *

  Gloria hit Play and felt a smile tickle her cheeks as she watched Lola tumble down the stairs. She just about managed to hold in her giggles when she saw her flip over the handrail and then carry on falling. But when she watched her land in a heap, exposing her underwear to the world, she couldn’t stop herself from laughing out loud. On the next table a pair of badly dressed American tourists looked up and tutted.

  She was sitting by the canal outside a café in Amsterdam watching the clip on her laptop. She saw that it had already been viewed by nearly a million people and laughed again as she read some of their comments below.

  ‘I’ll have what she’s having!’ joked one.

  ‘That’s more coordinated than some of her dance moves!’ said another.

  ‘Shame she didn’t break her neck!’ read Gloria’s favourite.

  The funny thing was, she’d only decided to slip her foot under Lola’s ankle on the spur of the moment. She’d actually been hoping to inflict more physical damage; from what she’d heard today, Lola had got away with nothing more than heavy bruising. But Gloria hadn’t spotted the fan waiting outside the club with his camera phone. And she was pretty sure that the damage done by his little film had exceeded anything she’d imagined possible. She took a sip of her coffee. She had no idea tagging along on a girls’ night out could be so much fun.

  Now that she thought about it, she had no idea being a bitch could be such fun either. It was a realization that had first hit her when Lola had asked her to deliver the pair of party passes to Freddy Jones after the gig at Hyde Park and she’d pretended she couldn’t find him. She’d been surprised at how easily lying had come to her – and how good she was at it.

  She pressed the Play button and watched the clip through again to make sure you couldn’t tell it had been her tripping up Lola – and to check that she hadn’t laughed as she’d tumbled down the stairs. But no, she’d kept a straight face and Lola was so unsteady as she emerged from the club she was dragging her feet and stepping on everyone’s toes. Her eyes sparkled as she realized she was in the clear.

  She gave a little start as a pair of teenage girls raced past on their bikes, clattering over the cobbles and ringing their bells at each other. She closed her laptop with a gratifying click.

  Gloria had never thought of herself as a bitch before, but it looked like she was falling head-first into the role – and playing it to perfection.

  *

  The car sped past St Peter’s Square, skimmed the side of the Castel Sant’Angelo and then crossed the river to begin rolling its way through the streets of Rome. Harvey wound down his blacked-out window and tried to breathe in the city. He was hit by a blast of scorching hot air and immediately wound it up again, keen to retreat to the comfort of the efficiently cooled car.

  He was ensconced in a plush leather seat next to Lola and across from Barbara and Amina, while Tiny was squeezed into the ordinarily ample passenger seat up front and the others were following in a convoy of vehicles. Lola and the band were due to perform a short set at a music festival in the Villa Borghese. It was a big deal as the show would be broadcast live on Italian television and Lola was the headline act. But after seeing the state she’d been in on the YouTube clip and having to pull her out of a TV show in Amsterdam because she was too hung-over, Harvey only hoped she was up to it.

  Come to think of it, he hoped everyone was up to it. A yawn spread its way around the car and he noticed that Barbara was doing her best not to nod off, her cheek sliding off her fist with a rhythm he couldn’t help finding amusing. Clearly by this stage of the promo tour everyone in the team was starting to feel the strain of a schedule he was beginning to think might have been a little too packed from the start. He too gave into a yawn and squeezed his eyes tight to try and clear his foggy head. He’d just flown in from a difficult meeting in LA with the management team behind soft drink Twinkle to finalize their deal to sponsor Lola’s tour – and was feeling flattened by jet lag.

  He looked out of the blacked-out window and caught a glimpse of something that may or may not have been the Piazza Navona. He couldn’t remember much of city as he hadn’t visited since Cleen Teenz had crashed in and out to play a couple of gigs, and he’d had to spend most of that trip bribing doctors to prescribe the morning-after pill to fans their security had plucked out of the audience and invited back to the band’s hotel. Either that or drunkenly chasing around after a handsome TV producer called Alessandro he’d met backstage at a gig, who never seemed to take off his sunglasses and always had a jumper draped over his shoulders even though it was the height of summer.

  But Harvey did also remember that the city he’d experienced back then had been achingly beautiful. The Colosseum, the Spanish Steps, the Trevi Fountain . . . He looked out of the car window now and caught the occasional flash but was so disorientated by a combination of jet lag and drunken memories that he wasn’t sure what he was seeing. Hopefully he’d get the chance to do a bit of exploring later when Spike arrived to watch the gig then take a short break. Harvey hadn’t seen him for nearly a fortnight and the next few days would give him a chance to make up for it. He planned to make everything wonderfully romantic, in so far as he could whilst also fulfilling his various work commitments. For the moment, though, his main priority was looking after Lola – and making sure she didn’t descend into freefall.

  He looked across and gave her a warm smile. ‘How you feeling, Trouble?’

  ‘Oh, you know – like shit. I’m blatantly knackered, darlin’.’

  ‘Well, hang on in there. We’re nearly done now – only Spain to go.’

  She nodded dolefully.

  ‘Lola,’ he asked gently, ‘is everything all right?’

  Her eyes flickered nervously onto Barbara and Amina, who by now were both fast asleep. Amina’s cheek was squashed against the window, a trail of dribble sliding down and pooling on the leather upholstery. ‘Yeah, why?’

  ‘I don’t know. I just wondered if you wanted to tell me anything.’

  Like whether I’m right to suspect you’ve been sleeping with Jake.

  ‘About what?’ snapped Lola. ‘What are you on about, Harvey? Have people been talking?’

  Uh-oh. Looks like I’m right.

  ‘No, of course people haven’t been talking,’ he replied calmly. ‘Well, no more than they always do on this kind of trip. But I’ve obviously seen the YouTube clip from Stockholm.’

  She flashed him what he could tell was a forced smile. ‘Oh yeah, isn’t it hilarious? Me and the girls couldn’t stop pissing ourselves.’

  ‘Unfortunately the marketing guys at Twinkle didn’t see the funny side.’ Harvey didn’t have the heart to tell her that he’d had to spend most of the last twenty-four hours trying to persuade them not to pull out of the deal, listening to them rant about Lola ‘polluting the brand’ and causing ‘reputational damage’. He’d eventually managed to smooth things over but only on the strictest promise that Lola wouldn’t be making a spectacle of herself again – and it was his job now to make sure that she didn’t. ‘Don’t worry,’ he smiled, ‘everything’s fine but I think they’d prefer it if we toned down the partying for a bit and concentrated on the music.’

  He tried not to wince in anticipation of Lola’s reaction. He already knew his words would go down like a soprano on a stag night.

  ‘What do you mean?’ she practically spat. ‘I was only having a laugh! That’s what I’m like – and I thought they were into the real me. I thought they liked me being all wild and rebellious?’

  Harvey thought back to all the trouble he’d got into with Cleen Teenz and his vow never again to mount a fake front for any of his acts. Obviously he was way past that point with Lola, whose true self had been riotously romping its way through the tabloids for months. But it was already way too late to find another sponsor for the tour – especially one with as much clout in the US. He need
ed to make this deal work. And besides, they were booked to shoot both the ad campaign and the TV commercial shortly after arriving back in the UK. Assuming Lola doesn’t do anything to sabotage the deal first . . .

  ‘Lola! Don’t get wound up about this. Honestly, it’s not that big a deal. All we need to do is keep them sweet – everything else is going brilliantly.’ He reminded her that the finished video for Tramp was looking amazing and about to premiere online at the same time as the single went to radio. As if that weren’t enough, Lost in Love was still top five in most territories, Trouble was the biggest-selling album in Europe and tickets for the tour had sold out in minutes. ‘Let’s just enjoy all the success and not do anything to rock the boat.’

  Lola smiled thinly but didn’t respond.

  The car slowed down as they approached the venue, hitting a speed bump which jerked Barbara and Amina awake. ‘Ooops, sorry,’ frowned Barbara as Amina wiped the drool from her face. ‘I must have nodded off.’

  Harvey smiled fondly. He didn’t like to say that certain people in the entourage had been talking – and he’d heard all about Barbara’s fling with the German radio producer who’d then followed her to Amsterdam, and Amina’s ongoing involvement with Lola’s guitarist Danny. It was great news that both of them had found someone and he knew it wouldn’t affect either of their work. ‘Oh don’t worry about it, Barb. Me and Lola were just saying how pleased we are that everything’s going so well.’

  Lola raised an eyebrow and wound down her blacked-out window. Straight away a crowd of fans spotted her and began calling her name.

  ‘Lola!’

  ‘Ti amo Lola!’

  ‘Sei stupenda Lola!’

  She waved at them and wound the window back up again but it was too late. The fans stormed over the barriers holding them on the pavement and rushed towards the car, banging on the windows so it began to rock gently. In an instant, Tiny locked all the doors and windows.

  ‘OK everyone, keep calm,’ he boomed from the front seat. He said something to the driver in Italian and stepped out to take charge of the situation.

  ‘Oh my God,’ screeched Lola as his door clunk shut. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘It’s all right,’ breathed Harvey. ‘We just have to go slowly, then we don’t run anyone over. Tiny’s probably guiding the car through, that’s all.’

  He tried to look out of the window but so many fans were squeezed up against the car that he couldn’t make out what was happening. They inched forwards but the rocking motion was growing more and more violent.

  ‘OK, so I really don’t like this now,’ stammered Lola, her face draining of colour. ‘I’m actually starting to shit myself.’

  ‘Don’t worry, doll,’ managed Barbara, although her hands were shaking so much it was obvious she was worrying herself. ‘We’ll be through it in a minute.’

  Lola scraped her fingers through her hair. ‘But it’s getting worse, Barb, it’s getting worse!’

  ‘All right, let’s all just try and stay calm,’ Harvey said, having to raise his voice over the sound of shouting outside. Amina had put her head between her legs and was starting to hyperventilate. The car came to a stop.

  Harvey could feel his heart rate quicken as the rocking continued.

  Lola snatched hold of his hand. ‘Oh make it stop, Harvey. Please make it stop!’

  What can I do? What can I do?

  ‘It’ll stop soon, Lola,’ he promised lamely. ‘We’re nearly inside now. Just everybody try not to freak out.’

  He could feel the adrenaline surge inside him. The four of them fell silent and panic bounced between them. The car was now rocking so violently Harvey was sure it was being lifted off the floor.

  ‘Lola, Lola, Lola!’

  Lola scrunched up her face and opened her mouth to scream.

  At that second a police siren sounded and the rocking came to a sudden halt. Harvey looked through the window and could see most of the fans stepping back as the police moved in.

  ‘Oh my God,’ exhaled Lola. ‘Oh my God.’

  Once again the car began to crawl forward. Through the windscreen he saw two huge iron gates swing open and the car zipped through, swept across a gravel path and crunched to a stop.

  They all breathed an enormous sigh of relief.

  ‘Phew!’

  ‘I’m so glad that’s over!’

  ‘Thank fuck for that!’

  Harvey noticed that Lola was looking flushed, almost as if she’d just stepped off a roller coaster. She gave them a little smirk and her eyes glistened. ‘Well, I don’t know about you guys but I quite enjoyed that!’

  Harvey looked at her in disbelief. He found her words more frightening than the experience of being mobbed. The four of them had just guzzled a big gulp of danger, a danger he knew too well some people found delicious. And it was quite obvious Lola was one of them. He could only hope the experience hadn’t left her craving more.

  *

  Lola brushed her teeth for the third time that morning but still couldn’t shift the taste of stale booze and decay. She seemed to be spending all her time lately either drunk or hung-over. She was so tired she felt like she was trying to drive up a hill with the handbrake on and she looked in the mirror and saw she had eyes like piss-holes in the snow. She padded back into the bedroom and stood facing her assistant.

  ‘Where’s that dog?’ she asked.

  Amina looked puzzled. ‘What dog?’

  ‘The one that shat in my mouth.’

  Lola gave a little laugh but knew that no amount of making fun of her hangover would be enough to lift her gloom. Which was a real shame, as she was in Madrid, one of her favourite cities in Europe. She sloped across the luxurious, painfully fashionable hotel suite and plonked herself down on a bed so big it could have comfortably slept her whole band. Outside, she could hear a crowd of fans chanting.

  ‘¡Lola, Lola!’

  ‘¡Te quiero Lola!’

  ‘¡Eres maravillosa Lola!’

  While she knew she should find this kind of attention hugely flattering, she could only experience it as a thundering din that added to her headache. And was making her feel depressed – because she knew she didn’t deserve it. Oh why am I making such a mess of things?

  Whichever way she looked at it, she really was making a mess of things. She felt desperately exhausted and emptied out by a combination of overwork, overdrinking and overdoing it on the late-night sex. Her voice was suffering and her last few performances had been offensively mediocre. She had no idea what day of the week it was and on TV last night she’d made a joke about being in Italy when she was actually appearing on the most important awards show in Spain. She’d been so embarrassed she’d told the girls she wasn’t going out and had guilt-tripped Jake into joining her for a quiet night in. She’d hung the No molestar sign on her door so it looked like she was sleeping and crept over to his room, but the two of them had ended up raiding his minibar and then spending so long having sex in his space-age shower that her skin was still shrivelled up like an eighty-year-old scrotum. The worst thing was that, when she’d left Jake first thing this morning, she couldn’t find her room anywhere as all the corridors looked exactly the same and she couldn’t remember the number. She’d had to creep down to reception in her dressing gown, but as she and the girls always invented funny pseudonyms when she was checking into hotels and she had no recollection of the latest, the staff couldn’t work out where she was supposed to be sleeping. In the end, she’d had to ask them to wake up Amina, who’d come down to find her but now obviously knew that she was seeing Jake. And judging from the sympathetic looks she’d been giving her all morning, she really didn’t think it was a good idea.

  ‘Would you like an orange juice?’ Amina asked, cocking her head as if she were talking to a wounded puppy.

  ‘No thanks.’

  ‘A coffee?’

  ‘Nah, can’t face it.’

  ‘How about some breakfast?’

  Lola was sudde
nly struck by an idea for a perfect hangover cure. ‘Ooh, you know what I really fancy?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Some Turkish Delight.’

  ‘Turkish Delight? But we’re in Spain.’

  ‘I know but they sell it everywhere, don’t they? Isn’t it, like, international?’

  She grabbed hold of her phone and looked up the Spanish translation – lokum was what it came up with, which didn’t sound particularly Spanish, but what would she know? She was suddenly overwhelmed by a desperate urge to sneak out of the hotel herself and find some. How difficult could it be? She didn’t carry cash when she was away working as everything was bought for her and brought to her, something she hated as it made her feel trapped. But I’m pretty sure I’ve got a credit card somewhere . . .

  She convinced Amina she’d gone off the idea and managed to get rid of her by pretending she was going back to bed. She wasn’t needed for a good hour, which surely would be enough time to track down some Turkish Delight on the streets of one of Europe’s busiest cities. She pulled on a grey tracksuit she’d brought for slumming it around hotel rooms and slipped on a black leather captain’s hat, chunky Converse trainers and a pair of wraparound sunglasses that hid most of her face. She had a quick look in the mirror to check she was unrecognizable and then skipped downstairs, boldly sauntering past the crowd of fans.

  ‘Who are you here for?’ she asked one casually.

  ‘Lola Grant,’ came the comically accented reply. ‘We love her!’

  She smiled and strode ahead, breathing in the air of freedom. She snaked along a street of tall, pastel-coloured buildings and emerged into what she knew from photos was the Plaza Mayor; she immediately recognized the pretty pink walls and shuttered windows, the cobblestoned ground and ornate baroque lanterns. She spotted what looked like a bakery and stepped inside.

  ‘Hola!’ she managed brightly, almost immediately exhausting her knowledge of Spanish. ‘Lokum?’

  ‘No, perdona señorita,’ frowned an old woman with dyed black hair and shocking white roots, ‘no hay.’