Divas (33 page)

Panting for breath, she stared at him furiously, seeing that he was frowning too. He opened his mouth to say something, but at that moment the chauffeur, obviously having counted down a minute
as per Niels’s instructions, opened the back door of the limo, and Lola scrambled out as rapidly as if the upholstery had just burst into flames.

‘Stay away from us!’ she yelled over her shoulder. ‘We don’t need you! Just stay away from me and Jean-Marc!’

Her attempt to make a fully dramatic exit was frustrated by the fact that the strip-lighting of the Plaza’s parking garage was so bright after the dark interior of the limo that it blinded
her momentarily. She came to a halt after two steps, blinking frantically, scared that Niels was going to jump out of the limo and shout at her some more. But then she realised that there was a
lift already waiting, its doors opening just at that moment: the chauffeur must have called it before unlocking the limo door. She muttered her thanks and dashed inside, holding her breath until
the doors closed behind her and she was finally alone, in a different space from Niels.

There was a mirror in the lift. She stared at herself. Her hair was a messy tangle, her mascara smeared halfway down her cheeks. Her eyes were dilated; there was a hectic flush on her cheeks,
and her skin was sweaty from exertion.

She was so confused by her own roiling emotions that she would have given anything to be able to ring a girlfriend right now and tell her everything. Talk it over, analyse what had happened,
twice, between her and Niels – what seemed to happen every time they were alone together: fighting and sex. They didn’t seem to be able to exchange two pleasant words with each other;
everything they did triggered a fight, which triggered sex, and, as had just happened now, another fight after that.

Because Lola had no experience with this kind of insane, unbridled lust, she had no idea how to deal with it at all. Exciting though it was, sex with Niels was equally terrifying: it went from
zero to 100 in the flash of an instant. Too fast, too out of control. Together, she and Niels were a Maserati with a hair-trigger accelerator. Was that normal? Lola really didn’t think so.
But Jean-Marc, who would be ideal to ask, was out of the question, because it would be much too embarrassing to tell him what she had just done with his brother.

And the girls – well, after the revelations about her that someone had sold to the British tabloids, she had no idea whether she could trust any of them. It would take a little while to
check if any of the traps she had set last night would be sprung.

She stepped out of the lift and walked down the corridor. But as soon as she pushed the door of the apartment open, she heard sounds that sent all her senses on high alert.

Up till that moment, Lola had been exhausted, coming down from a high-grade combination of stimulants. She had been ready for nothing more than stripping her clothes off and crawling into her
huge, soft bed.

That was, until she heard the thudding generic bassline of a pounding club soundtrack, laughter so high-pitched and raucous that it could only be drunken, and a provocative scream of excitement
in a man’s voice.

But I thought David wasn’t staying the night
? Lola thought.
He said he had to get a really early start tomorrow morning. And besides, that doesn’t sound like David
. .
.

All tiredness forgotten in her rising panic, Lola strode through the foyer, crossed the living-room and pushed open the door of Jean-Marc’s bedroom. What she saw there was worse than
anything she had imagined. Two half-naked young men – barely legal jailbait, by the looks of them – were curled up on the bed with Jean-Marc. The big mirror that usually hung over the
bed-head had been taken down, and was now lying on the coverlet. Its surface reflected the glittering chandelier overhead, streaks of light glinting on the razor-blades propped next to the piles of
white powder.

And there was a fourth person present, sitting in the big armchair next to the bed, observing the proceedings with the wide smile of a satisfied pagan idol. Lola recognised her immediately. The
over-plucked eyebrows, the cheaply dyed hair, the pores so deep that foundation, rather than covering them up, had sunk into them and made them even more visible, the gigantic football-sized
breasts resting just below her collarbones . . .

Lola stood and gaped at her, unable to believe anything about what she was seeing. She had seen pictures of Patricia in the tabloids, of course, but in the flesh she was infinitely more
freakish, as if she’d taken everything associated with femininity – the breasts, the long hair, the make-up – and exaggerated them beyond the point of parody.

Patricia’s head turned, sensing eyes on her. She didn’t miss a beat when she saw Lola, standing in the doorway: she smiled instead, showing a set of teeth so bright and white that
Lola shivered, thinking immediately of a crocodile rearing out of the water, its mouth open.

‘Lola!’ she said, in the rough, grating voice of someone who smokes two packs a day. ‘Nice to meet you, darlin’! Johnny’s told me all about you. Come in, join
us!’

Jean-Marc raised his head from the mirror, catching sight of Lola. His blue eyes were glazed, his fair hair damp with sweat. He looked frenzied, his pupils tiny dark points, and white powder was
caked round his nostrils.

‘You like the white stuff too, don’t you, Lola?’ Patricia giggled. ‘No point denying it, dear. We’ve all seen the papers! Come on, have a toot!’ She winked at
Lola. ‘And feel free to play with the boys if you like. Believe me, dear, there’s
nothing
they won’t do . . .’

L
ola took a deep breath, grabbed the mirror with both hands, and up-ended it and its contents all over the coverlet and the carpet. Puffs of white
powdery cocaine flew up into the air, momentarily blinding everyone on the bed. The boys screamed in fury and protest, ducking down as Lola sent the razorblades sliding across the mirror and onto
the floor on the far side of the bed.

‘You crazy bitch!’ one of them yelled. ‘Do you
know
what that’s worth?’

Struggling under the weight of the mirror, Lola dragged it towards her and propped it against the wall behind her: it was still streaked with white residue.

‘Naughty, naughty, ’ Patricia commented, her voice like gravel dragging against gravel. ‘You’ve got quite a temper, don’t you, dear? He’s not coming back to
you, you know. Our little Johnny’s a confirmed homosexual.’

Patricia turned her head, the pencilled-in eyebrows raising in fake surprise as she failed to see Jean-Marc.

‘Now,
where
can he have gone?’ she asked. ‘Lola dear, where
is
your fiancé? Have a look, why don’t you?’

Tears came into Lola’s eyes when she ducked down to see Jean-Marc crouched down beside the bed. His fingers were pinched together, desperately scrabbling white powder from the tufts of the
thick pale carpet and stuffing it up his nose. Strands of carpet came up with the coke, and he didn’t seem to care. His eyes were bloodshot, and he was moaning faintly.

As she straightened up and looked around the room Lola felt as cold as ice. She turned to stare at Patricia, who was still sitting in the chair, lighting another cigarette from the butt of the
previous one, a small, amused, infinitely knowing smile on her face.

‘Get up, ’ Lola said between her teeth. ‘Get out. All of you. Get out and never come back.’

The sheer iciness of Lola’s tone made the boys jump to obey, grabbing their clothes and hustling for the door.

‘And you, ’ Lola said, staring at Patricia. ‘You disgusting, horrible pimp. Get up out of that chair now, before I call security and make them throw you out on the street where
you belong.’

‘You
bitch
, ’ Patricia hissed, her eyes narrowing. ‘How
dare
you call me a pimp? It’s
madam
to you! Can’t you see these?’ She hoisted her
breasts at Lola. ‘Bigger than those little fried eggs on your skinny little chest!’

‘You’re a drug dealer!’ Lola snapped. ‘And a pimp! Now stand up and get the hell out of here!’

Patricia’s aura of malevolence was now so strong that Lola was amazed when her enemy did in fact slowly stand up, easing herself out of the armchair.

‘You’ll regret this, ’ Patricia said quietly, and Lola found herself taking a step back.

‘Oh yes you will, ’ Patricia continued, almost crooning the words. ‘You’ll regret this. No one crosses me and gets away with it. I know you, Lola Fitzgerald. I know all
about you. You’ve got nothing of your own any more, and you’re on trial for murdering your own father. You’re in no position to be causing me any problems.’

She took another deep drag at her cigarette. ‘You should have played nice, dear, ’ she said. ‘I gave you the chance. You could have partied with us and had the little tarts, if
you’d wanted, or just turned a blind eye and left Johnny to me and my boys.’ She sighed. ‘But no – you had to get up on your moral high horse.’

‘Get out, ’ Lola repeated between gritted teeth. ‘You’re disgusting.’

Holding Lola’s eyes with her own, Patricia took her cigarette out of her mouth and dropped it to the carpet beside her.

‘Disgusting, am I, Miss Lola Fitzgerald?’

She leaned closer to Lola, so close that Lola could see every pore in Patricia’s face, every sag of her skin, pulled down by the heavy make-up. Patricia’s grey roots were beginning
to show at the hairline, and her breath was so reeking that it was all Lola could do not to turn her face away: under the stink of menthol cigarettes was something decaying and corrupt, like rotten
food or old vomit.

‘You’re everything I hate, ’ Patricia whispered into Lola’s face. ‘Rich, privileged, pretty as a picture. Everything’s been given to you on a silver platter.
Well, I’m going to take it all away from you, dear. I’ll see you in the gutter by the time I’ve finished with you. I’ll see you crawling at my feet. And then, maybe,
I’ll let you work for me.’ She smiled maliciously. ‘I’ve got some male clients who’d love to teach a girl like you a few facts of life.’

With all the strength she had from her yogilates and boxercise classes, Lola struck Patricia across the face, so hard that Patricia’s head snapped back with the force of the blow. They
stood there for a moment, staring at each other, neither able to believe what Lola had just done.

And then, without another word, Patricia turned on her heel and stalked out, snapping her fingers at the boys, who scurried after her. Lola slammed the door behind them, and then frowned,
suddenly smelling smoke: looking down at the carpet, she was horrified to realise that Patricia’s cigarette was still alight. It had started to smoulder, burning a hole in the carpet. She
stamped it out furiously, with much more effort than she needed to use, grinding her heel into the fibres, panting with the effort.

Then, bracing herself, she went back into Jean-Marc’s bedroom to begin the long task of cleaning him up and getting him to sleep.

S
ummoned into the manager’s office at Maud’s, a short while after the onstage fight with Lola Fitzgerald, Evie hadn’t had the
slightest idea what to expect. She was taken aback to see not just Pete, the manager, present for the talk; off to the side of Pete’s desk, standing with his arms folded across his chest, was
that big, brutally handsome guy in the very expensive Brioni suit who had picked Lola Fitzgerald up and pretty much just walked off with her.

Wow, he really is a looker,
Evie thought.
Like that guy who plays James Bond, the blond one, only even meaner-looking. In a good way. He could pick
me
up and carry me off any
time he wanted.

‘Diamond!’ Pete jumped up. ‘How are you? We’re so sorry about what happened!’

‘Security’s been hauled over the coals, ’ the James Bond guy assured her. His accent was foreign; she couldn’t place it, but it was incredibly sexy, with more than a hint
of gruffness. ‘No one should ever have got onto the stage let alone attacked you.’

‘I can’t apologise enough, ’ Pete said, coming round the desk to take her hand and pump it between both of his. ‘Really. We take care of our performers at Maud’s.
This was a total aberration. Sit, please!’

Evie sank into the chair he had indicated, while Pete lifted the tail of his jacket and perched his buttocks on his desk. The James Bond guy remained standing, though.

He’s all wound up
, Evie realised.
I wonder why?

‘Diamond, we realise you must be really shaken up by what happened tonight, ’ Pete started.

It was all Evie could do not to roll her eyes.

You guys, I was a
stripper,
OK?
she wanted to say.
Other girls stole my stuff and tried to sabotage me. I gave freaking
lap dances in the private room.
Men groped my tits
and put their fingers up me and worse. Playing Find The Needle Dick with my sugar daddy was all in a day’s work for me. Trust me, getting dragged off a pole by his spoilt little daughter who
can’t fight for shit is so low down on my radar that it barely registers.

‘I did get bad pole burn, ’ she said demurely.

‘That sounds painful!’ Pete said, wincing. ‘Diamond’ – he leant forward – ‘believe us: we’re really sorry this happened. We want you to stay at
Maud’s. We want to compensate you. You have a great act. You’re a star. And now – let’s be honest – you and Maud’s are going to get a ton of attention.
Let’s make the most of it together, OK? Let’s really build your career.’

He reached behind him on the desk and grabbed a piece of paper, which he handed to Evie. As she took it, her eyes widened. Clipped to the top of it was a cheque for $10, 000, made out in her
name.

‘That cheque’s for you, whatever you decide, ’ Pete said. He gestured to the James Bond guy, who nodded. ‘Diamond, this is Niels van der Veer, one of our investors. He
took Miss Fitzgerald home, came right back here and wrote that cheque out to you by way of apology.’