by Matt Cain
‘I’m afraid the record company have hired the venue so it’s a private party,’ frowned Spike. ‘And strictly no press.’ So far Hugh had no idea Spike was seeing Lola’s manager – and for his sake Freddy hoped it stayed that way.
Hugh dipped his hand into his trousers to work free what must have been an uncomfortably positioned bollock. ‘Sorry, chaps, but you know how it is.’ He withdrew his hand and rested it on his desk. Freddy made a mental note not to shake it later.
‘I mean, we’ll double-check,’ he said, ‘but I really don’t think we’ll get in.’
‘Well, do your best. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you our ratings are down yet again. And the channel’s really starting to get jumpy. So we’ve all got to up our game – and be much tougher from now on. Nobody’s job’s safe.’
There was a tense silence and Freddy pictured himself being made redundant, unable to pay his whopping big mortgage and having to sell his flat. And he could just imagine the reaction of his dad and his brother-in-law when they heard the news. He looked at Spike and widened his eyes. He couldn’t let it happen.
‘What about the opening night of Lola’s tour?’ Hugh rattled on. ‘Isn’t it happening at the O2?’
‘For real,’ said Spike. ‘Next Wednesday.’
‘Well, if we can’t get into the party can we get into that? And do some kind of backstage report? A big exclusive?’
Freddy tried not to groan. Reporting on Lola’s brilliantly successful career really was the last thing he wanted to do right now. But it didn’t look like he had much choice – not if he wanted to keep his job.
It looked like Spike had come to the same conclusion. ‘Urm, yeah, we can definitely give it a go.’
‘Yeah, well, you’ll have to do more than that, bro,’ Hugh hit back, causing Spike to recoil ever so slightly. ‘You’ll have to dig around for a juicy news story. Because there’s got to be the odd skeleton hiding in Lola’s closet and it’s about time you two found it – and dragged it out onto our programme.’
Freddy could feel his shoulders twitching. He’d spent the last few weeks trying his best to avoid anything to do with Lola but now he was being forced into it. Well, at least he didn’t have to go to tonight’s party and pretend to be having a good time while he was secretly sniffing around for scandal. Although Spike would be there – and he’d have to start sniffing.
‘All right, boss,’ Freddy mouthed rather weakly. ‘We’re on it.’
‘OK then chaps,’ said Hugh, standing up to dismiss them. ‘I think we understand each other. Now off you go and make some noise.’
He held out his hand, the same hand that just a few minutes earlier he’d thrust down his trousers to reposition his no doubt dirty, sweaty bollocks. Freddy had no choice but to take it.
*
Lola held out her hand and Harvey shook it. If she wanted their relationship to be businesslike then he had no choice but to play by her rules.
‘All right, Lola?’ he ventured, stepping into her trailer. He daren’t call her Trouble after the way she’d reacted last time.
‘Hiya,’ she replied curtly. He noticed there was no ‘darlin’’ although, come to think of it, he wasn’t sure she’d called him that for weeks.
‘Oh hi Barb, darlin’,’ she trilled, her face brightening up at the sight of Barbara behind him.
‘Hello, doll,’ Barbara replied, following Harvey inside and kissing Lola warmly on each cheek. ‘Good to see you.’
There was an awkward silence as the three of them sat down around a table piled high with presents from fans. A huge bouquet of flowers stood in the centre, blocking the view between Harvey and Lola. Neither of them moved it.
The three of them were meeting for one of their regular sessions to talk through publicity requests for the month ahead. As time was tight Harvey and Barbara were grabbing Lola in her lunch break from the first production rehearsal. Although from the look of things, she was already itching to get back to work.
‘Come on then, let’s get on with it,’ she quipped, checking the time on her watch. ‘I’ve not got long and we really need to kick this show into shape.’
Harvey tried not to bridle at her brisk manner and reminded himself that she was under a lot of pressure. Of course he’d heard about her meltdown on the video shoot the other day, but what could he do about it? She hadn’t wanted to discuss it with him – nor had she wanted to discuss her break-up with Jake, which he’d heard about from Amina. She probably assumed that, because Harvey had predicted that particular disaster, he’d be looking forward to a good gloat. But on the contrary, he knew from his own experience how splitting up with someone you’d always known you shouldn’t have fallen for could be the toughest kind of break-up because it was sharpened by anger at yourself for being so stupid. And just because his relationship with Lola was now purely professional, that didn’t stop him from worrying about her. So before the meeting he’d had a quick chat with Barbara to talk through ways to ease the growing pressure on Lola in the run-up to opening night. And he’d come up with a list of suggestions, which Barbara was now going to present to her as her own ideas. The way Lola felt about him at the moment, Harvey knew she wouldn’t accept a single one of his suggestions.
‘OK, so first up,’ said Barbara, opening her notepad, ‘the party tonight. I think we should definitely say no press. If that’s still OK with you, Lola?’
‘Blatantly. I just want to mess it up, Barb. You know, it’s the last chance I’m going to get before the show opens. And I know what I’m like.’
Harvey was sure she was shooting him a stern glare but thankfully the flowers were still standing between them. He couldn’t help thinking how ironic it was that in just a few hours’ time they’d be celebrating Lola’s success in Club Class, the very place where they’d first met. He remembered how a mutual friend had introduced them on the dance floor one night and how he’d instantly liked her, sparkling with delight as she’d told him about her music, promising to send him some songs for him to have a listen. As they’d started working together and become friends, Club Class had quickly developed into their favourite hang-out. He remembered how much fun they’d had in there night after night, revelling in each other’s company and laughing uproariously. He could almost feel tears spring to his eyes as he remembered how joyous their friendship had been in those days – and how united they’d been in the hope that one day all their dreams would come true. But now they had and Lola was becoming so hardened and wrapped up in herself he wasn’t even sure she’d remember. Oh I don’t know what it is but I just can’t make her like me anymore.
‘And what about promo?’ Barbara went on. ‘Now I think it would be a good idea to stop doing everything for a few weeks, at least until the tour’s up and running.’
Lola took a swig from her bottle of water. ‘All right, if you think that’s best.’
‘Definitely,’ nodded Barbara. ‘I’m sure you’ve got enough on your plate already. And besides, I fancy a trip to the golf club this weekend.’
Harvey laughed, knowing how much Barbara liked her golf. She was captain of the ladies’ team in some kind of publicists versus press league, but often had to sacrifice her game to make way for work commitments – and would be having to do so much more once the tour was underway.
‘Knock yourself out, darlin’,’ Lola smiled. He wondered how long it had been since she’d smiled at him.
‘There is one thing though,’ Barbara pointed out. ‘We’ve just had a request in from Freddy Jones at Channel 3 News. He wants to do a backstage exclusive on opening night. Now I know the papers blew the whole romance between you two totally out of proportion, but he’s obviously still a friend so I thought I’d run that one by you.’
There was a pause and Harvey was sure Lola’s eyes flickered onto him. At that moment Barbara realized he couldn’t see her properly and moved the flowers out of the way. As soon as he had a clear view of her she looked away uneasily.
‘Hmm, yeah, I
don’t know,’ she mumbled.
‘It would be a great way to get footage of the first night straight out there,’ suggested Barbara. ‘Especially if we’re going to announce extra dates.’
‘Wait a minute,’ Lola piped up, ‘I don’t suppose this has anything to do with the fact Harvey’s shagging his producer?’
‘No!’ he broke in. ‘That’s got nothing to do with it at all.’
‘That is, if you are still shagging him?’
Yes, me and Spike are very happy actually, he wanted to blurt out. And it’s not our fault it didn’t work out between you and Jake.
‘Lola, it’s got nothing to do with that,’ he explained calmly. ‘But the whole country is convinced you and Freddy were getting married a few weeks ago. So we just have to tread carefully, that’s all.’
She looked out of the window with an expression Harvey was pretty sure betrayed a sense of guilt. He decided to gloss over the fact that it was him who’d persuaded her to go on a date with Freddy – and that he’d pestered her afterwards to follow it up with a second date. All right, he’d been convinced the two of them would make a great couple and he’d heard from Spike that Freddy was gutted at being blown out. But nobody could say he hadn’t done his bit to get them together. And now he’d just have to step back and let whatever was going to happen between them take its course.
‘Look, I don’t think we should do an interview or anything,’ picked up Barbara. ‘But how would you feel if we let him come and do a live broadcast, film a bit of the build-up to the big opening and then maybe the first couple of numbers?’
Lola took a deep breath and glowered at Harvey. ‘Hmm, maybe.’
‘We could give Channel 3 News exclusivity if they agree to pool their show footage afterwards,’ explained Barbara. ‘So all the other broadcasters will be able to show it but we don’t have to put up with fifty cameras stressing you out.’
It made perfect sense and Harvey didn’t see how Lola could refuse.
‘Yeah, all right,’ she huffed eventually. ‘And I actually wouldn’t mind seeing Freddy again. He’s a nice guy.’
‘OK, fantastic,’ said Barbara, snapping her pad shut. ‘But one last thing. I think it would be a good idea if we’re not doing any press to start sending out regular tweets – just to keep the momentum going. And I’ve noticed you’ve been a bit quiet on that front lately?’
‘Oh yeah,’ Lola frowned. ‘Sorry.’
Harvey knew how important it was for Lola to maintain her Twitter presence – especially as she now had over two million followers. ‘You know, I’m quite happy to send the odd tweet from your account if it makes things easier,’ he offered.
‘No!’ she objected. ‘I’ll blatantly do them myself. I do write all my songs, you know – I’m sure I can manage the odd tweet.’
‘No, of course, I only meant . . .’ Oh what the hell. It doesn’t matter anyway. Nothing he could say right now would reduce Lola’s animosity towards him. He watched as she picked up her phone and began tapping at the keypad. To think that just a few months ago she’d been the one convincing him to tweet for her, arguing he could do her just as well as she could. Those days seemed a long time ago now.
She plonked her phone down onto the table and Harvey’s pinged to alert him that her tweet had been posted. As he picked it up and typed in his passcode he could feel her scowling at him.
‘Still busy in rehearsals,’ he read, ‘show going to be fierce. Last night of freedom tonight. Am blatantly going to MESS IT UP!’
‘How’s that, Harvey?’ she asked, her eyes blazing with defiance.
‘Yeah, great,’ he gulped.
He’d already been worried about tonight. Now he was seriously scared.
*
A few hours later Lola was already starting to feel messy. She’d spent the first half of the party being whisked around and introduced to everyone who was working on the tour, from the production manager and tour accountant to an endless parade of roadies, each of them bigger and hairier than the last. Everyone who’d worked on the album had been keen to congratulate her on its success, from producers and co-songwriters to musicians and sound engineers. And all that time she’d been plied with glass after glass of a specially created cocktail, which she was pretty sure someone had said was made of vodka, champagne and elderflower. Whatever it was, it tasted fierce.
She broke away from a deathly dull conversation with a bloke with dandruff and buck teeth she seemed to remember was somebody important at the record company and leant on a pillar to survey the party. The steady stream of cocktails seemed to have lowered everyone’s inhibitions below their usual rock-bottom watermark. A beaming Hettie Spriggs had taken to the dance floor to teach Mike, Smudge and Chuck how to dance like rockabillies, letting her out, reeling her back in and twirling her around energetically. Lucretia Lavelle was desperately trying to prove she could still rock out with the best of them, twerking her stringy sixty-something-year-old body around Tiny, backing up onto his groin and occasionally lifting up her skirt to prove it was true she didn’t wear any knickers. And Vlad the Impaler was using his hands to mime the dimensions of something Lola could only assume to be his legendarily large dick to gasps of approval from Belle, Scarlett and Trixie. She couldn’t help chuckling to herself. It looks like I wasn’t the only one who needed to mess it up tonight.
Across the dance floor she could just about make out transgender DJ Candy Lunt, who must have been hired to provide the soundtrack to the night. She watched as Candy listened to the next track in her earphones and then mixed into it to a roar of approval from everyone on the dance floor. Lola broke into a mischievous smile as she recognized the first notes of Mess It Up.
Worked hard all week,
Doing as I’m told,
Being such a good girl,
Being good as gold.
A rush of adrenaline surged through her and she bounded onto the dance floor, where within seconds she was joined by Kitty, Jette and Boo to recreate the routine they’d been rehearsing all day. They lifted her onto a nearby table and she shimmied and shook her way through the song as everyone at the party cheered her on, their fists pounding the air. She wasn’t sure she’d ever danced so well. Why couldn’t she dance like this when she was sober?
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!
She looked down and spotted Todd, Nate and Junior improvising around the girls, their bodies jerking and snapping to the infectious beat. And she noticed a defiant-looking Gloria dragging Sharonne onto the dance floor to give it her all, occasionally looking over at Lola to check she was watching. Well, she didn’t care if Gloria was a better dancer than she was because she was the star of the show – and of tonight’s party.
Stuck to the script,
Followed every rule,
Now I wanna scream,
Wanna act like a fool.
The only person Lola realized she hadn’t seen all night was Jake, and as she swung her head around to the music she surreptitiously glanced up and down the club to see if she could spot him. Club Class had long been one of the coolest venues in London; created in an old Victorian school, its dance floor stood in what had been the school hall, where the ceilings had been lowered to the level of the steel girders, the walls stripped back to expose the brickwork, and a raised platform which must have been some kind of stage converted into the DJ stand. The staff were dressed all in black, their outfits topped off with mortar boards and the occasional black cane, which they’d run up and down any customers they deemed to be particularly cheeky. And a series of old classrooms leading off the main hall had been reinvented as a VIP room, a chill-out area and a ‘detention den’, which was where people were supposed to go if they wanted to get naughty. Not that it looked like any of her team needed it. Even Amina had been loosened up by the cocktails and was cur
rently draped across a bare wooden bench straddling Danny, running her fingers through hair that made him look like he’d been electrocuted while he ran his up and under her bra.
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!
It had been a few years now since Lola had been to Club Class but it was here she’d first met Harvey. She’d lost track of the number of times the two of them had stood at the bar getting shit-faced, nipping into the unisex toilets to huddle in a cubicle and discuss the merits of whichever men they were chasing, only ever splitting up to nip into the detention den for a quick snog – or a little more in Harvey’s case. She had a vague recollection of one particular occasion when he’d staggered in there with a tracksuited skinhead who claimed to be a distant relative of David Beckham, only to emerge completely naked an hour later, explaining that the guy had disappeared with all his clothes and his wallet, leaving him to spend the rest of the night hiding his modesty behind one of the barmen’s mortar boards. But Lola remembered that he’d carried on drinking and had even gone on to pull some hot Texan who’d been wearing a Stetson he’d swapped for Harvey’s mortar board. The two of them had laughed together until they’d been clutching at their stomachs gasping for air. Oh he used to be such fun in those days. But he’s a different person now and he probably wouldn’t even remember.
Everything had changed when he’d given up booze and started taking life so seriously. She spotted him now talking to the buck-toothed record exec, miming fascination at whatever he was spouting on about. In the old days she’d have sneaked up behind him and stepped on his foot or elbowed him in the ribs to try and make him laugh – and he’d have given in too, however important the conversation. She missed the old Harvey. She missed her best mate. She didn’t understand how he could have changed into the kind of person who made her feel bad about everything she did, often without even saying anything. Whatever happened to his promise of being always at and on my side?