Nothing But Trouble

by Matt Cain

  ‘Yeah, just give us another five,’ cheeped Hettie with that permanent smile Lola was starting to find annoying.

  ‘No actually, Hettie, I’m ready to go now. And I’m sick of sitting around fiddling with my fanny.’ She realized she was practically shrieking and most of the crew had dropped what they were doing to stand and gawp at her. But she couldn’t care less. And she felt bolstered by the support of Belle, Scarlett and Trixie lined up behind her.

  Hettie looked stumped. ‘Oh, right, urm, yeah—’

  ‘Look,’ Lola interrupted, ‘it’s about time someone took charge around here. It’s perfectly simple if everyone stops trying to overcomplicate things. Carlson, tell me what you want. Tiny, show me how to do it. And Hettie, tell that camera to turn over!’

  ‘Yeah, urm, turn over please.’

  Lola looked at Carlson. ‘Right, what’s happening?’

  ‘Well, we were just saying it would make a great end shot if you came directly at the camera with an uppercut.’

  ‘Right. Yeah. Fine. Let’s go.’

  Carlson looked at her with a worried grimace. ‘Although obviously don’t actually hit the camera.’

  ‘Blatantly,’ Lola hissed. ‘What do you think I am, an idiot?’

  ‘No, sorry Lola, of course not. But if you just stop your fist about an inch from the lens, we’ll be able to dip to black.’

  ‘OK,’ Lola nodded, banging together a pair of fists that felt fully loaded. ‘Tiny, what do I do?’

  Tiny stepped up to the camera and briskly walked her through the actions.

  ‘OK, so with this move your hip should go before your punch. Lean back, don’t lean forward. Keep your elbow bent and stay in tight. Tuck your chin down to your shoulder then slide the punch off your ribcage and lean back as you throw it. Push your hip forward and release!’

  God, why does he have to make it so complicated?’

  ‘So if we just go for a little practice?’ he suggested.

  ‘No, fuck that,’ she exploded, ‘I’ve got it already. Let’s go!’

  ‘Lola, are you sure?’

  ‘Yes! How many times do I have to say it? Hettie, is the camera turning over?’

  The cameraman nodded at his director, who forced herself to smile at Lola. ‘Yes, we’re at speed. So positions please everyone. And standby. And action!’

  Lola concentrated all her efforts on remembering the moves Tiny had shown her. But as she stepped up to the camera her heart was racing with so much adrenaline she felt like she was losing control. She looked into the lens and could see the faces of Jake and Gloria looking up at her from the floor of the storeroom. And then, in a flash, it happened, without her even thinking what she was doing. She pulled back her fist, threw it forward with a low grunt and crashed it straight into the lens, not only shattering the glass but knocking the machine off its tripod and onto the floor. It landed with a thud, sending a ripple out through the ring.

  Fuck!

  She watched in horror as the entire crew rushed forward and began scrambling around to assess the damage.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck!

  She slowly sank to the floor, her heart still pounding and the taste of shame now burning in her throat.

  Oh what the fuck have I done?

  Tears sprung to her eyes but her gloves were so big she couldn’t even wipe them. She felt them race down her cheeks as her whole body began to convulse. Within seconds she was crying deep, guttural tears. And the worst thing was, everyone in the hall had stopped to stare at her in abject horror.

  ‘Lola?’ Carlson whispered, kneeling down beside her. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘No!’ she wailed. ‘I’m not all right! The tour’s starting in ten days and I’m supposed to be excited and everything’s supposed to be fierce and I just don’t understand why I feel like shit. And now I’ve gone and fucked it all up and I’m turning into a bitch and everyone hates me. And I hate myself and I just want it to stop!’

  As she buried her head in her hands she became aware of a flurry of arms appearing from all sides to stroke and hug her. But it was no use; nothing was any comfort. No amount of Turkish Delight would make any difference this time. She was overwhelmed by the physicality of her tears and a crippling sadness she hadn’t been aware of all day but which seemed to have suddenly erupted within her. She just wanted to melt away and disappear. But she knew there was no way out. And she felt trapped and terrified of what was going to happen.

  I’ve got to pull myself together. I’ve got to get a grip.

  There was only one note of positivity glimmering through her despair.

  At least the camera’s broken. At least it can’t film me in this state.

  Because this embarrassing meltdown was bad enough – but having it caught on camera would make things a whole lot worse.

  10

  As the music blasted out to fill the vast space, Lola held up her arms and felt the dancers lift her high onto the table. She shook to a sound much rockier than her usual style and prepared to launch into the vocal for Mess It Up.

  Worked hard all week,

  Doing as I’m told,

  Being such a good girl,

  Being good as gold.

  ‘Sorry!’ broke in a voice coming out of the speakers. ‘Can we stop there for a minute? We just need to reposition that light on Lola.’

  Even though she couldn’t see what was happening in the darkness before her, Lola recognized the voice of her technical director Vlad, a pigeon-chested thirty-something who always seemed to smell of TCP and had earned the nickname Vlad the Impaler, partly on account of his Romanian parentage but also because of his legendarily large dick – something Lola found extremely unlikely considering his stick-thin frame. Not that she had the remotest inclination to find out, especially at the moment. The way I feel right now, if I never see another dick again it’ll be too soon.

  ‘Just one more minute, Lola!’ came Vlad’s nasal voice. ‘That’s it! Much better!’

  The entire team working on the tour had assembled in a huge aircraft hangar near Heathrow for the first of several production rehearsals. There was just one week to go till opening night and it was time for all the different elements that would make up the show to be brought together. The band, the dancers, the set, the sound and lighting – only the costumes would be added at a later stage. But even so, there were so many problems to fix that the rehearsal was interrupted every other minute. And even though Lola wasn’t performing at full pelt it was still very frustrating. She was doing her best to stay calm.

  ‘OK and let’s press on,’ instructed Carlson’s voice over the speakers.

  The band began playing and Lola repeated her routine at the start of the song, this time going on to sing the first chorus.

  I’m heading for a blip,

  Mess it up!

  Let’s sip till we slip,

  Mess it up!

  Maybe do a strip,

  Mess it up, mess it up, mess it up!

  ‘Sorry, sorry!’ interjected Carlson, clearly enjoying feeling like a star with his own mic to speak into. ‘Hold it there for a bit, guys. We just need to tweak the dance routine for the new space.’

  Lola stepped down from the table as Carlson skipped onto the stage to speak to the dancers. In keeping with the theme of the song, Todd, Nate and Junior were playing barmen, juggling cocktail shakers and performing acrobatic tricks on a chrome bar that had risen through the floor and onto the stage. Kitty, Jette and Boo were dancing around a table as if on a particularly rowdy girls’ night out while Lola whipped up their enthusiasm by singing to them from above.

  As she leaned on the bar and listened to Carlson’s direction, she thought back to her outburst in Busters boxing club and tried not to cringe. Not only had it been hugely embarrassing but it had also been extremely costly; the production had been insured for the breakage of the camera but it had taken hours to find a replacement, pushing the crew fees well into overtime, an additional cost Lola couldn’t pretend was dow
n to anything other than her own meltdown. And on top of all that she could tell it had made everyone, not least herself, worried that she might crack up completely as the tension mounted in the final week of rehearsals. Ever since, she’d felt like she was walking a tightrope and could topple off at any second.

  ‘OK,’ said Carlson, bouncing off the stage and disappearing into the darkness, ‘all done. Mess It Up – take it away!’

  Stuck to the script,

  Followed every rule,

  Now I wanna scream,

  Wanna act like a fool.

  As Lola half sang and half spoke the lyrics, she walked her way through the unstructured, slightly wild choreography Carlson had devised to complement the song’s theme of letting go. And even though she wasn’t giving it her all, she could still feel herself being infused with the song’s spirit and being turned on by the idea of getting out there and messing it up – an idea that appealed more and more as she drew closer to opening night and felt the pressure she was under ratcheting up another notch. In just one week’s time she’d be taking to the stage at the O2 Arena and the whole world would be watching to see if she really was good enough to justify all the fuss – and the huge sales. As she couldn’t risk falling ill, she was already taking all kinds of extra-strength vitamin tablets and daily injections of some kind of mineral that was supposed to boost her immune system. She could hardly refuse as there was no way her role could be understudied – she had to make it onto that stage, whatever happened. So why did she just want to go out and get shit-faced?

  I’m heading for a blip,

  Mess it up!

  Let’s sip till we slip,

  Mess it up!

  I’m gonna let rip,

  Mess it up, mess it up, mess it up!

  Out of the corner of her eye she couldn’t help noticing that Jake was staring at Kitty, a gorgeous blonde with bright blue eyes and that killer combination of great boobs and a pencil-thin waist. She caught him flashing her a sloppy grin and felt a wave of revulsion. How could I have fallen for such a blatant sleazebag? How could I have actually thought I was in love with him?

  Jake must have found Kitty a little too distracting as he suddenly lost his rhythm and one of his drumsticks came clattering down from his elevated position and onto the set below.

  ‘And just pause it there for a second,’ bellowed Mike Henry into his mic. He stepped into the light, stroking his moustache. ‘Everything all right, Jake?’

  ‘Yeah, sorry dude, I’m not too sure what happened there.’

  I am, thought Lola. You were thinking with your dick as per usual. She was about to voice her thought but stopped herself when she heard Gloria tutting loudly from behind; she didn’t want to give her any chance of rehabilitating herself by forming some sort of sisterly alliance. Instead she watched in silence as Kitty skipped across the stage, picked up Jake’s drumstick and threw it up to him with a flutter of her eyelids. Lola could hardly blame her for falling for his charm – after all, she had. So had Gloria. And as this was her first rehearsal with the band, Kitty probably knew nothing about what had gone on between Jake and either Lola or Gloria. But Lola did think Jake was being more than a little insensitive to both of them. Rather than rubbing salt into her wound, it only reminded her of how stupid she’d been.

  ‘OK, one more time,’ called Carlson. ‘Take it away!’

  I’m heading for a blip,

  Mess it up!

  Let’s sip till we slip,

  Mess it up!

  Wake up in a skip,

  Mess it up, mess it up, mess it up!

  God, she wanted to get drunk. So drunk she didn’t care where she woke up – even if it was in a skip.

  Thankfully she’d have the opportunity later tonight. Her record company was throwing a big party to celebrate the success of the single Tramp, which was still at number one across Europe after more than a month of release, and Trouble, which was now the biggest-selling album for years. Lola intended to throw herself wholeheartedly into the celebrations; for one night only she’d forget all about the show and the pressures of opening night.

  This would be her last chance to mess it up for real before the start of the tour. And she didn’t intend to waste it.

  *

  Jake didn’t understand what all the fuss was about. All that talk about messing it up. He could think of several things he’d much rather do – and all of them involved that smoking-hot dancer Kitty.

  As he pounded out the beat of the song his eyes wandered to watch her stepping through the routine at the other side of the stage. She was wearing some kind of tiny shorts or hot pants with a crop top that showed off her killer bod. What he’d give for a piece of that ass. And it looked like the feeling was mutual. He’d seen it in her eyes when he’d staged his little accident and she’d thrown him back his drumstick with a flutter of her eyelashes.

  And all right, it might be a little awkward with both Lola and Gloria there too. But it wasn’t his fault if the two of them had grown way too attached to him and caused a major drama. And the truth was, he was kind of relieved he was no longer seeing either of them. Sure, Lola had been a lot of fun and a great lay, but once she’d got serious the fun had quickly disappeared. And yeah, Gloria had given a kick-ass blow job but he was through with having to trail across London to her roachy apartment because she had no babysitter for her dumb-ass daughter. Like he gave a shit.

  No, now he was seeing neither of them he felt much freer. And there might have been a pissy vibe in rehearsals for the last couple of weeks but as soon as the band had been joined by the rest of the team the tension had lifted. And there was one person in particular who’d lifted Jake’s tension. As he drove the song towards its rousing finale, his eyes fixed on Kitty performing a cartwheel across the stage. He smiled as he realized he’d be seeing her at the party later – and she’d hopefully be lifting his tension a whole lot more.

  And it wasn’t as if anyone could object if he started nailing one of the dancers. Surely it was almost expected of a drummer? He wouldn’t care but he’d been a good boy and kept a low profile ever since that little scene in the storeroom, only banging broads from outside Lola’s circle. But that had gone on for long enough now. And the real star of this show was ready to make his comeback.

  Mess it up? These guys could mess it up by getting as drunk as they liked. Jake was planning on messing things up in his own way.

  *

  ‘OK, so this one’s completely different,’ Freddy said, ‘but I think it’ll be cracking.’ He was sitting with Spike in Hugh Badcock’s office, midway through the entertainment team’s regular meeting to pitch long-lead stories for the month ahead. Although in this particular meeting, most of his energy had so far been spent on trying to avoid the subject of Lola – and tonight’s big party.

  ‘Go on then, boyo,’ Hugh said, putting his arms behind his head and leaning back in his chair so Freddy felt like he was talking to his package. ‘Let’s hear it.’

  ‘Well, as I’m sure you know, for the last few months Rex Watson has been dating celebrity sex therapist Bunny Love.’

  Hugh dismissed the story with a wave of his hand. ‘Yeah, yeah, old news. Next!’

  ‘No, but get this – they’re about to announce they’re writing a big sex manual together. And we’ve been offered an exclusive interview to break the news.’

  Hugh leaned forward and began fiddling with his signet ring. ‘Hmmm, so they’ll talk about their sex life, will they?’

  ‘Apparently so,’ offered Spike. ‘And according to Bunny it’s off the hook, man.’

  Hugh shook his head. ‘Yeah, well, she always says that. But I want detail. Just what exactly has Rex Watson got under those tight chinos? You’ve got to take the piss, Freddy.’

  Freddy smiled. He knew this story would appeal to Hugh. In his experience one alpha never missed out on the chance to take a swipe at another. And Rex had to be the biggest silverback in the jungle, who’d only climbed to his exalted positio
n by stepping his way over several much smaller and weaker apes – which was why on this occasion Freddy was happy to agree to Hugh’s usual demand for a more aggressive approach. ‘Oh I’ll be sure to get stuck in. And it won’t be hard to take the piss; Rex is pretty much setting himself up for it, like.’

  ‘Well, that saves us the bother,’ Hugh went on. ‘Oh and don’t forget, the more noise you can make the better.’

  ‘No problem,’ Freddy nodded, doing his best to feign a look of respect.

  ‘Good man. Good man.’ Hugh stretched his arms and looked pleased with himself. What he didn’t realize was that Freddy had spent the first half of the meeting going through his usual routine to get the stories he wanted to cover commissioned. He’d begun by deliberately pitching a crap story he didn’t want to do about fashion photographers Mark and Mark being caught having a threesome with TV producer Cassian Blunt in Spike’s gym, precisely so Hugh could flex his muscle by turning it down. And then he’d invented a ‘fiercely competitive battle for exclusivity’ with the BBC to get the green light for an interview he wanted to do with Blake Striker about his new album, knowing that Hugh would only go for the story if he pretended a rival broadcaster was interested. Although in principle Freddy objected to having to spend so much time pandering to his editor’s machismo, over time he’d learnt to work with it as just another part of his job.

  If only I can avoid the subject of Lola. This morning a press release had landed in his inbox announcing record-breaking sales for Lola’s album and her single, Tramp. There was no denying that her success was fast becoming the entertainment news story of the year. Freddy could only hope the information had escaped Hugh.

  ‘And what about your ex-girlfriend, boyo?’

  Evidently it hadn’t.

  ‘Do you mean Lola Grant?’ Freddy asked, managing to look unruffled.

  ‘Yeah. Isn’t she having some kind of party tonight? Someone sent me a release bragging about her amazing sales. Presumably she’ll be getting wankered to celebrate. Can you get in there and film it?’