by Matt Cain
He’d just presented a brief outline of his plans for tonight’s programme to the afternoon meeting, obviously omitting to mention his story’s headline but telling the team he was going to break a major scandal involving Lola Grant, one that Hugh Badcock had interrupted him to boast would ‘destroy her career’. As he’d watched his colleagues’ faces light up at the prospect, Freddy had felt sickened right through to his soul. What was he doing?
He’d spent most of last night tossing and turning in bed, going over and over in his head everything Spike had said to him in the Cock and Bull. And, even though he’d chickened out from telling Lola how he felt when he’d bumped into her at the dress rehearsal, he couldn’t help wondering whether Spike had been right and there really was still something worth fighting for. What if Lola does still like me and I’m about to ruin my chances by laying into her live on TV?
His thoughts were interrupted by the sight of Hugh Badcock striding out of the toilets and across the newsroom as he did up his fly. ‘All right, boyo?’ he boomed. ‘Good luck!’
‘Thanks,’ Freddy managed. ‘Thanks a lot.’
‘Oh, and when you get back, let’s me and you arrange to go out for a drink one night. Have a little chat about your future. Because, you know, this is the kind of story that can make a journalist’s career. And it’s something we should definitely build on.’
‘Great,’ Freddy swallowed. ‘That’d be cracking.’
‘But first of all let’s see how much noise you can make with this one. Don’t forget, the harder you can make Lola fall, the juicier the story is for us.’
Freddy tried to avoid looking at Spike. ‘Thanks, boss.’ He made a show of glancing at his watch. ‘Urm, we’d better get going.’
‘OK,’ Hugh said, backing away and shouting across the newsroom, ‘but remember, I don’t just want this story to be noisy – I want it to make my ears bleed!’
‘Yeah, yeah, I’m on it.’ Freddy tried not to sigh out loud. Shouldn’t he be all fired up about this?
Once Hugh had disappeared into his office, Freddy scooped up his bag and headed for the door with Spike at his side. But as he walked towards the lift, he could feel his heart starting to pound. Something was rising up within him – something he couldn’t name but which had been repulsed and sparked into life by Hugh’s words.
I don’t want Lola’s downfall to be the making of my career. And this isn’t the kind of story I want to build on in the future.
No, however much he tried to convince himself, now that it came down to it, Freddy knew he couldn’t go ahead with tonight’s report. But how could he possibly get out of it if the story was going to break anyway?
Unless I try and stop the story breaking in the first place. Unless I can somehow stop the footage being played in the O2 and convince Hugh the whole thing was some kind of hoax.
But could he do that? Could he really pull it off? He’d certainly be up for trying. But if he did, he’d have to act fast.
He followed Spike into the lift and as the doors shut he turned to face him.
‘Right then, champ. We’re not doing this.’
‘What? Are you for real, man?’
Freddy folded his arms purposefully. ‘Yes. We can’t do it, Spike. It’s not right. I’m not going to attack Lola – and I’m not going to let anyone else attack her either.’
‘But I thought you said we had no choice?’
‘Well, we have no choice if we wimp out and just let the story happen. But we do have a choice if we man up and stop it from happening.’
Spike’s face illuminated at the first glimpse of a new hope.
The lift came to a stop and the doors pinged open onto the ground floor.
‘But you know,’ Freddy went on as they walked through the security barriers, ‘we’ve not got much time so we need to get on with it. And I really need Harvey’s number.’
They stepped into the street and saw that it was raining. They ran to shelter under the canopy of the crew garage where they were scheduled to meet their cameraman Big Phil. Freddy looked around to check no one could hear them as Spike scooped his phone out of his bag and his fingers flew over the keys.
‘Here you go, blud.’
Freddy took hold of the phone and breathed in deeply. He knew that once he’d told Harvey what was about to happen he’d have no option but to see things through. And he’d have to do everything he could to stop the story breaking. He really hoped he was up to it.
He hit Call.
*
Lola picked her way between the piles of flight cases filling the vast scene dock of the O2 and walked out onto the empty stage. She’d purposefully arrived early for the soundcheck so she could have a bit of time to herself first. She was determined to savour every second of a day she wanted to keep alive in her memory for the rest of her life.
And now she was here everything suddenly seemed much more real. Of course she’d been living and breathing the show for the last few months. But holed up in rehearsal venues it had been easy to kid herself she was creating an explosion of artistic expression purely for her own benefit – not something she’d actually be performing to real people and real cameras in the real world. But there was no kidding herself anymore. Waiting for her in the car park of the O2 had been the seven tour buses and sixteen trucks that would be transporting the entire team and equipment from London to all the major cities in the UK and Europe – not to mention the planned second leg in the US. She felt a twist of tension tightening in her stomach.
Please let me get through tonight.
Please let me be as good as I can.
I promise I’ll never be a bitch again.
She slowly crept down the runway that extended from the stage and walked all the way to the edge. She stopped and gazed out at the empty auditorium. Everywhere she looked, endless rows of blue seats stretched as tall as skyscrapers, and as she peered up at the top they began to swim out of focus and make her feel dizzy. Even though the arena was huge, she felt almost claustrophobic, as if the towers of seats were about to topple forwards and tumble onto her. She imagined looking out at the same view when the auditorium was filled with fifteen thousand fans, each of them holding up their camera phones ready to film the show and be the first to upload it onto YouTube.
Thinking about her fans reminded Lola to tweet them a quick message. She reached for her phone and took a selfie standing at the foot of the runway with the empty auditorium behind her. She attached it to a new tweet. ‘Shit the bed! This place is blatantly massive. Looking forward to causing some trouble for you all later x’
She hit Send and closed down Twitter. From now on she’d have to ignore her phone and concentrate on psyching herself up for the show.
‘All right, Lola?’ bellowed a voice from the back of the stage. It was Mike Henry, dressed in a brand new tour T-shirt featuring the slogan Here Comes Trouble on the front and the dates of all the shows Lola would be performing on the back. Her knees buckled slightly as she saw them stretching out before her. Manchester, Munich, Marseilles . . .
‘Hiya, darlin’,’ she called back, ‘how you doing?’
‘I’m great thanks. But the question is, how are you doing?’
‘Oh, you know, a bit nervous. But I’m still up for it. I’m blatantly bang up for it.’
‘Atta girl!’
Mike turned around to greet the band as one by one the musicians stepped onto the stage and began staring out at the auditorium.
‘Fuck me, that’s big!’ said Danny.
‘Fucking hell!’ echoed Smudge. ‘Are we really going to do this?’
‘Too fucking right we are!’ piped Lola, striding over to them and forcing herself to be jolly. She couldn’t believe it had been less than four months since she’d met these guys. Already they’d been through so much together they were starting to feel like family – albeit a very dysfunctional one. And now she was about to share with them the most important night of her life. ‘Come on guys, this is going to be
fierce!’
‘Fierce?’ gulped Chuck. ‘Or fearsome?’
‘Fierce!’ she said, straining out a laugh. ‘Now will everyone stop trying to make me nervous?’
She went around hugging them all, soaking up everyone’s words of encouragement. When she came to Gloria she stopped and there was an awkward moment as the two of them stood facing each other just a few feet apart.
‘Good luck,’ Gloria quipped casually.
‘Thanks,’ Lola managed to grin back at her. ‘Have a good show.’
‘Oh I will,’ smiled Gloria. ‘I’m really looking forward to it.’
Oh well, thought Lola, at least everyone’s up for it.
Even Jake seemed enthusiastic. ‘Good luck, Lola!’ he called out from behind his drum kit. ‘I’m sure you’ll rock the roof off this joint.’
Yeah and I’m sure you’ve started shagging some other bird. She could tell from the look on his face he was getting his end away. Not that she cared anymore. She only felt sorry for whoever the new girl was.
‘Thanks!’ she called back at him. ‘And I’m sure you’ll shag the shit out of it.’
He smiled at her with the sloppy grin that just a few weeks ago had driven her wild. Now she felt so little she could even crack jokes with him. She couldn’t believe how quickly she’d moved on. And tonight she was planning on moving on even further . . .
But first of all she had a show to perform. And right now she had a soundcheck to get through. She turned back to take another look at the empty auditorium. The next time she’d be standing on this stage it would be looking very different.
*
Harvey sat in his dressing gown stroking Pickle and staring at the phone. He couldn’t believe what he’d just heard.
Freddy Jones had called to warn him that tonight someone would be going all out to destroy Lola’s career – and her life. And from what he’d explained, Harvey couldn’t think of a better way for them to do it. Well, he might not be her manager anymore – or her friend for that matter – but he couldn’t stand by and let this happen.
He jumped out of his seat and grabbed his phone. Freddy had said he was going to set off for the O2, so Harvey had promised to back him up by making a few calls. He decided against calling Lola; she already had enough to worry about with tonight’s show and he knew that finding out about this could be just the thing to push her over the edge. And besides, she probably wouldn’t answer anyway; the last time they’d spoken she’d made it quite clear she wanted nothing more to do with him.
He thought about calling Amina but reasoned she’d be with Lola, who might overhear the conversation. So he decided that instead he’d go straight to the person responsible for the screens during the show, the person best placed to remove the threat posed by the anonymous source. He dialled the number of the show’s technical director, Vlad. But there was no answer.
Is he busy? Or is he just ignoring me because I’ve been sacked? He was sure he’d feel humiliated if he weren’t so frightened for Lola. He dialled the number again but still there was no answer. He left a voicemail asking Vlad to call him urgently.
Next he tried Barbara. Surely she was still speaking to him? But again there was no answer. It obviously hadn’t taken long for word to get around that he was out of a job. Again he left a voicemail.
In desperation he began searching for the number for Carlson. The two men hadn’t exchanged a word since Carlson had accused Harvey of being a prick-tease in Club Class. Well, there was no point dwelling on that now. He’d just have to swallow his pride and give him a call. He dialled the number and held his breath. Again there was no answer.
‘I’m a bit tied up at the moment,’ came Carlson’s camp voice, ‘but leave me a message and I’ll give you a tinkle as soon as I can.’
Harvey let out a low groan. He left another voicemail and began to pace the room. Pickle jumped down from the sofa to trail along beside him.
What on earth am I supposed to do now?
He stopped to look up at the ceiling and rubbed at the stubble on his chin. He hadn’t bothered showering or getting dressed for days and had hardly left the flat since his bust-up with Lola. He’d just wanted to hide away from the world and fester in a pit of self-pity. But now he’d have to pull himself together and snap out of it. Because there was nothing else for it: if he was going to try and save Lola from public disgrace he’d have to get out there and spring into action. But first he had to make himself look human again. And as soon as he did he was going to dash across town to the O2. He only hoped that when he got there someone would let him in.
*
Vlad, Tiny, Carlson . . . One after the other they called into Lola’s dressing room to wish her good luck.
‘You’ll totally nail it!’ they all seemed to agree. ‘You’ll blow everyone away!’
‘Oh thanks,’ she mumbled, feeling less confident by the minute.
‘Now I’m going to be watching from out front,’ explained Carlson, ‘so I get a real sense of what it’s like for the fans.’
‘All right, darlin’. Sounds like a good plan.’
‘But I’ll come straight round afterwards to see you,’ he promised. ‘And I’m sure you’ll have a great show.’
‘Yeah, thanks, darlin’. See you later.’
She closed the door softly and turned back to her dressing room. Well, she called it her dressing room but it was actually a suite of rooms; there was a changing room fitted with white wardrobes and mirrors bordered by built-in spotlights; a bedroom with a king-size bed and a huge pile of plump pillows; a separate lounge area with three plush, bum-swallowing sofas; a little kitchen crammed full of pre-and post-show treats; and a bathroom stocked with the latest range of luxury beauty products by Laura Mercier. All of the rooms were filled with the fragrance of several vases of fresh flowers sent by friends, which competed for space alongside all kinds of peculiar presents from fans. It was absolutely amazing but she couldn’t help thinking she didn’t deserve it – and panicking that everyone was expecting her performance to be just as amazing. She felt herself gradually being consumed by an upsurge of that recurring conviction of not being good enough, which no amount of success seemed able to smother. In fact, it only seemed to make it worse. Oh why can’t it just finally go away and never come back?
The truth was, she’d have been much happier in a dressing room a bit less ostentatious. She remembered some of the dumps where she’d got ready to go on stage just a few years ago when she’d been trying to kick-start her career by performing up to three PAs a night in any old club that would take her. She had a particularly vivid memory of applying her make-up in the ladies’ loos of a gay club called Dirty Den – ladies’ loos which had been full of gentlemen having sex in the cubicles and had stunk of a sickly mix of poppers, vomit and the latest aftershave by Dolce & Gabbana. Of course, in those days there hadn’t been any good-luck presents from fans, and the only friend or colleague who’d travelled around with her had been Harvey. Now, on the other hand, she’d stupidly sacked Harvey and was instead accompanied by her ever-present assistant Amina as well as her three-woman Style Council, not forgetting Lucretia Lavelle, who’d called in to inspect the costume she’d designed for the opening number. Lola gave her a little twirl.
‘That’s sublime!’ Lucretia beamed. ‘Absolutely sublime!’
For her big entrance Lola was wearing a variation on her outfit from the Tramp video; Lucretia had recreated the persona of a futuristic feminist crusader but dressed her in a shorter hot-pant catsuit in metallic silver and rimmed with real diamonds. The costume was complemented by high-heeled thigh-high boots similar to the ones Lola had worn in the video, but the hairpiece had been deemed too fiddly to remove in between numbers so had been replaced by a silver space-age helmet which had an inbuilt microphone, didn’t obscure too much of her face and could be whipped off in between numbers to reveal her signature jet-black spiky hair. The look was about to be completed by a liberal application of silver glitter eyesh
adow and lip gloss at the hands of Scarlett. Lola smiled at her reflection and slid into the make-up chair.
‘You look totes amazing,’ frothed Scarlett. ‘Let’s hope the audience is full of hot men.’
‘Ooh, speaking of hot men,’ chirped Lucretia, ‘you’ll never guess who my date is tonight.’
‘Now let’s see,’ mused Lola, feigning ignorance. ‘Ace Bounder?’
‘Yes! How did you know that?’
‘Oh, let’s just say gossip spreads fast around this industry.’ As she said the words she felt thankful no one in her entourage had blabbed about her fling with Jake – not to mention her coke binge when they’d split up.
‘Anyway,’ Lucretia went on as she headed for the door, ‘I’d better dash. I don’t want to be late for my date!’
Lola knew that Lucretia had a pair of seats in the box that had been reserved for her friends, execs from her record companies and everyone who’d worked with her on the album and singles. Not forgetting a shoal of celebs like Ruby Marlow, Blake Striker and Shereen Spicer – and now, apparently, Ace Bounder. She kind of wished they weren’t all coming on the opening night. She picked up her state-of-the-art stun gun and fired a laser beam at her reflection. ‘Fuck me, girls, I’m really starting to brick it.’
The three of them gasped in surprise.
‘But you’ve nothing to be nervous about!’
‘You’ll be totes wicked!’
‘You’re going to fuck the shit out of it!’
Lola took a ragged breath. ‘Thanks. I blatantly hope you’re right.’
‘Well, you know if you’re really nervous you could always have a little bump of coke,’ Trixie offered.
Lola shook her head firmly. ‘Oh no. No thanks.’
‘But it’d give you that extra kick. And I thought you really enjoyed it the other night?’
‘Yeah it was a good laugh and everything, but I really don’t want to get into it when I’m working. And to be honest, I’m not sure it’s for me anyway – I mean, the way I feel at the moment, I don’t even want to get pissed anymore. I just want to get out there and sing. Sing, sing, sing!’