Nothing But Trouble
MATT CAIN
Nothing But
Trouble
PAN BOOKS
For my mum and dad,
who are cooler than any pop star.
Contents
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
Shot Through the Heart
1
1
‘Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome tonight’s guest of honour and a woman the whole country’s talking about . . . Lola Grant!’
Lola blinked away her nerves and fixed her face into a bright grin. As she stepped onto the stage she couldn’t help feeling overwhelmed by the sound of the applause. Come on, she told herself, keep it together and don’t start crying.
‘Oh my God,’ she began in her strong south London accent. ‘Thanks guys, thanks a lot. I hope this means you all like my new album!’
There was a howl of agreement from a prematurely drunk PR girl that grew into a widespread roar. The bright grin spread its way across Lola’s face. I can’t believe this is happening to me!
‘You know what,’ she went on, ‘it’s no secret it took me ages to get here. I couldn’t get a record deal for years and the whole thing blatantly hammered my confidence. And then the first album was great and everything but after so many knock-backs I was convinced people would think I was shit – that I was just some rough bird with a good pair of lungs on her.’
‘We love you, Lola!’ shouted a group of excited fans from the back of the crowd.
‘Thanks guys,’ she smiled bashfully, ‘but I didn’t think anyone loved me a few years ago. So I was a bit scared to be myself on that first album. Actually, I was more than a bit scared – I was totally shitting it.’
The audience laughed then settled into an intent silence. Lola looked out and recognized a pair of fustily dressed music execs and the distinctive rust-coloured hair and beefy build of Freddy Jones, the entertainment correspondent from Channel 3 News.
‘Anyway, you might be pleased to hear that I’ve stopped shitting myself now and haven’t held back at all on Trouble. So when you listen to the album, for the first time you’re listening to the real me – even if I am just some rough bird who can belt out a tune.’
As the crowd hollered and whooped their approval, Lola felt a rush of such intense joy she had to stop herself from staggering backwards from the impact. Here she was on a bright June evening in To Dive For, an exclusive rooftop bar with a full-length swimming pool and the most incredible views of London. And cheering her on were some of the most important people in the media and the music business – all of them here to celebrate the launch of her new album. It was everything she’d ever wished for and almost too much to take in. She paused for a moment to compose herself.
‘But even though it’s a very personal album I blatantly couldn’t have made it on my own. I know speeches are boring and you all want to get pissed but I just want to say a quick thank you to everyone who worked with me on Trouble. And to one man in particular – my brilliant manager and best mate, Harvey Sparks.’
She looked around for Harvey but instinctively knew where she’d find him. He was standing at the front of the crowd just a couple of paces to her right − as he himself liked to say, always at and on her side. She grinned at the sight of his dirty blonde hair, gentle brown eyes and self-conscious smile.
‘Harvey, you’ve always been there for me, and even when everyone thought I was shit you never stopped believing in me. So this album might have my name all over it but it’s just as much yours as it is mine.’
As she held his gaze she felt a tremble of emotion. She turned back to address the crowd and gestured to Harvey with her thumb.
‘You know what, I couldn’t even be me if it weren’t for this bloke. So please raise your glasses and drink to my rock and right-hand man . . . Harvey Sparks.’
*
Harvey tried not to blush as everyone turned towards him and raised their glasses.
‘Harvey Sparks!’ they boomed.
He took a sip of his fizzy water and did his best not to squirm. Drop him into a meeting with the biggest ball-breakers in the business and he always knew he could nail it, but stand him in front of any kind of audience and for some reason he went to pieces. He guessed that was one of the reasons he and Lola were so well suited professionally: she was happiest doing her thing on stage and he was at his best working away behind her. Except that right now she’d just yanked him out from behind her and thrust him into the spotlight. He straightened up and did his best to look authoritative and managerial.
Lola winked at him and then stepped back, handing the mic to a glassy-eyed record exec with shocking dandruff and horrendous buck teeth. As Harvey watched her swig from a glass of deep red sangria he listened to the exec explain to the crowd what he already knew: that Lola’s first album had been a big success but now Trouble was going to take her to a whole new level. In fact, confidence in her career was so high that once she’d finished promoting the album in the UK and Europe and completed the first leg of her mammoth tour, she was going to fly out to the States to launch her career there. And with that he formally announced that Lola had just signed a major deal with the American arm of her record company – and predicted that this year she was going to conquer the world. There was another eruption of approval.
Flippin’ ’eck! thought Harvey. They really do love her. It was all very encouraging – and came as something of a relief. Because yeah, hopes were high for Lola’s career, but Harvey was all too aware that as they rose so did the stakes; the record company was investing millions in her future and needed to see a return on its investment. It was a big gamble but he reassured himself that there was nothing to worry about. In fact, the bosses at the record company were so bullish about Lola’s career they were even thinking of dropping her surname to confidently position her alongside those music megastars known only by their first names – Madonna, Kylie, Rihanna . . . If everything went according to plan, Lola was heading for the international elite of pop’s premier league. I only hope we don’t hit too many bumps along the way.
Just then he was distracted by a pair of trashy-looking blondes with million-dollar bodies but one-dollar faces standing at the bar and talking at the tops of their voices. ‘I swear to God his dick was so big it was like a beer can,’ he heard one of them say. ‘Honestly, I couldn’t get it in my mouth never mind anywhere else!’
Harvey watched them cackle with laughter as they smoked fags, chewed gum and knocked back shots of vodka. They beckoned to the barman for more and Harvey smiled as he remembered his own days as a heavy drinker, always the life and soul of this kind of party – and the first to sacrifice his dignity to make sure everyone was having a good laugh. If he were ten years younger, by this stage of the evening he’d probably have ripped his clothes off and dived into the pool – either that or he’d be getting down and dirty with one of the waiters in the disabled loos. Those were the days . . . Three years ago, in his early thirties, he’d taken the decision to stop drinking when his life had begun to spiral out of control – but before things had reached that point he’d had a hell of a lot of fun getting there. And it looked like these two blondes were having plenty now.
As he watched them completely ignore the speeches and down another round of vodka, it dawned on him that this kind of industry party wasn’t half as much fun when you weren’t drinking. At least not now that he’d reached such a senior role and felt a real sense of responsibility for Lola’s career − and well-being. But he was happy wit
h his new focus in life and had become much more successful since he’d given up the booze. He felt a shiver of excitement as he thought of everything he’d lined up for Lola over the next few months. Appearances on the biggest TV shows in Europe, a headline slot at a huge anti-drugs benefit, and that all-important multi-million-pound tour sponsored by the soft-drink brand Twinkle. With his help Lola really was on the cusp of taking on the world. Hmm, not bad for a lad from a council estate in Wigan.
His only concern right now was Lola’s own drinking. Sure, fans couldn’t get enough of stories of her wild partying, and pap shots of her falling over on her way home from clubs only seemed to make them love her more. Her appeal was very much that she was a real woman rather than just another bland, polished pop star. But there were times when Harvey looked at her drinking and recognized his younger self − and worried that she drank with an angry edge, out of some kind of urge to self-destruct.
Tonight she’d promised him not to get too hammered, at least not until she’d spoken to all the important industry people and recorded her interview with Freddy Jones. Freddy had been granted the TV exclusive of the launch party because he was known as a friendly, respectful interviewer who was never the slightest bit of trouble. Channel 3 News was the top-rated news programme on British TV and the interview would be broadcast live as the ‘And finally’ item at the end of tonight’s nine o’clock bulletin. But Harvey was starting to worry that Lola would get carried away and say too much if she didn’t stay sober. Because yes, she was a real woman – but there was only so much reality the public could handle.
*
As some buck-toothed bloke with dandruff droned on about the record company’s latest financial results, Freddy Jones couldn’t take his eyes off Lola. Of course there was no pretending she was a natural beauty in any conventional sense, but with her jet-black spiky hair, cute little face and dark, olive skin he found her seriously attractive. Tonight she was looking better than he’d ever seen her, in a fitted metallic minidress and thigh-high black leather boots with a pair of Marc Jacobs sunglasses perched on her head. And he loved the fact that she was much more rebellious and outspoken than other pop stars, who were usually so worried about offending potential album buyers that they failed ever to give away anything of the slightest interest. He gave a little chuckle. No one could ever say that about Lola.
On his way over here he’d read an interview in which she talked movingly about her difficult childhood growing up in the care of a hopelessly drug-addicted mother. He’d never come across a pop star speaking so openly before, and although some of the details of her story were pretty grim and difficult to swallow, it only made him like and respect her more. He was hoping she’d be similarly honest later that night when he interviewed her live on Channel 3 News.
The truth was, he didn’t see how he could go wrong. Practically everything Lola did right now made the news, and her daily appearances in the tabloids had helped her latest hit Lost in Love reach number one and become the fastest-selling single of the year. Her surging profile had also helped build up a massive buzz around tonight’s album launch − and attract some of the biggest stars in town. Freddy had already spotted footballer Slam Carter, TV presenter Ruby Marlow and celebrity sex therapist Bunny Love, all of them eager to soak up some of the overspill of Lola’s glory. He made a note to make sure his cameraman filmed shots of each of them to give his report the maximum glamour.
Not that it would be lacking in glamour. In the two years Freddy had worked as an entertainment correspondent this was by far the glitziest showbiz event he’d been to. To Dive For was already the hottest venue in London and thousands of pounds must have been spent transforming it into the setting for tonight’s themed beach party. The pool was surrounded by rows of retro deckchairs and real palm trees and the floor had been covered with inches of deep, soft sand. Waiters and waitresses dressed in ball-crushing Speedos and boob-busting bikinis padded around barefoot, serving little bowls of Spanish food like paella, chorizo and tortilla and topping up the guests’ glasses with an endless stream of extra-strong sangria. Freddy assumed it had all been inspired by Lost in Love, Lola’s upbeat summer anthem laced with hints of Spanish guitar which told the story of a whirlwind holiday romance. But whatever the inspiration, the party was a huge success − and he was thrilled to be the only TV journalist allowed inside to film it.
As the ugly bloke finally wound up his speech, Freddy signalled to his cameraman Big Phil to carry on filming. And he was pleased that he did; just when everyone thought the speeches were over, Lola surprised them all by stepping forward and grabbing hold of the mic.
‘All right you lot,’ she bellowed, waving her glass in the air, ‘it’s time to get this party started!’
To a roar of agreement she knocked back a huge swig of blood-red sangria.
‘Come on guys, let’s sip till we slip!’
Freddy smiled. It certainly looked like her guard was down and he’d be getting a good interview. I only hope she doesn’t get too drunk and embarrass herself in the process.
*
Feeling the drink go to her head, Lola stumbled as she stepped down from the stage. She quickly checked herself and held out her glass to a passing waiter who filled it with sangria. Tonight she’d promised Harvey she’d only have one drink, but it was difficult to keep track when the waiters were constantly topping up her glass. Mind you, she reassured herself, I haven’t actually emptied it so technically I’m still on my first.
As she entered the adoring throng she was instantly flanked by Harvey and her publicist Barbara Bullock, a bosomy lesbian who only ever wore men’s suits and whose passion for promoting her artists was matched only by her passion for playing golf. Harvey and Barbara summoned security and guided Lola through the crowd as the opening notes to Lost in Love blasted out from the sound system. Once the chorus kicked in everyone around her began singing along.
That hot summer’s night,
It felt oh so right,
And I was lost, lost,
Lost in love.
To have so many people singing her words back at her made Lola feel emboldened and uplifted. Her whole body fizzed with excitement at what she knew was going to be a great night.
Once they were clear of the crowd, Harvey steered her towards a reserved seating area.
‘You all right, Trouble?’ he asked.
‘Yeah, fantastic thanks, darlin’. Was my speech all right?’
‘Yeah, it was great − just the right balance between polish and personality. And thanks for embarrassing me in there.’
‘My pleasure,’ she teased. ‘I’m sure there’s plenty more where that came from.’
‘Yeah, well don’t forget you’re being interviewed live on Channel 3 News later,’ interrupted Barbara. ‘And we also have photo opps with a load of celebs and competition winners.’
‘That’s not to mention all the industry people you have to charm,’ added Harvey.
Lola pulled a mock pout. ‘My God, I thought this was supposed to be a party!’
‘Oh come on,’ coaxed Harvey, ‘you know the drill as well as we do. It’s work for the first couple of hours and then play afterwards − once the cameras have gone.’
‘All right, all right. Well, we’d better get the work bit out of the way then. And before we do I’m blatantly going to need a drink.’
Barbara clicked her fingers and from out of nowhere a waiter appeared and topped up her glass.
‘Oh thanks, darlin’,’ Lola purred, almost draining it in one. ‘And don’t worry, Harvey − I’m still on my first!’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ he smirked, ‘I’ve heard that line before − I used to use it myself once upon a time.’
There was a huge splash and the three of them looked over to see a pot-bellied A&R man bobbing up to the surface of the pool. Several guests wailed that he’d got them soaking wet but when this only made him splash them all more, they began to strip off their clothes and jump in after him. As Lost in Lo
ve reached its rousing conclusion, the party descended into a full-on water fight. This is more like it! thought Lola, shooting Harvey a mischievous look.
‘Ah-ah,’ he frowned. ‘Don’t even think about it.’
She folded her arms with a sulk. ‘Well in that case let’s get the boring stuff over with. Because sooner or later I’m going in that pool − and I can’t hold myself back much longer.’
*
As soon as Harvey guided Lola back into the crowd, the commotion in the swimming pool calmed. Now there was a new focus of attention; within seconds a ripple of excitement tore around the party and Lola was besieged by guests baying for just one magical moment in her presence.
‘Congratulations on the number one!’ shouted a skinny man with enormous nipples.
‘Love the new album!’ shrieked a severe-looking brunette, stepping on Harvey’s toe.
‘Can’t wait for the tour!’ spewed a wasted bald guy, blowing chorizo breath into his face.
With the help of security he wrestled Lola through the crowd and began to pick out the important industry execs he wanted to treat to a blast of her high-voltage charisma. Despite the fact that she was continuing to knock back the booze, he was relieved to see that she didn’t let him down, delighting a huddle of honchos with a mucky sense of humour most stars would keep well hidden.
‘So there’s these two rats in a sewer eating shit, right?’ she began, a naughty twinkle in her eye. ‘One says, “I’m sick of eating shit all day,” and his mate says, “Cheer up, we’re on the piss tonight!”’
Harvey reeled at the force of their laughter. If she can keep this up then maybe she really IS going to conquer the world.
‘She’s so normal!’ gushed a tall guy with terrible nasal hair.
‘I love her accent!’ fawned a square-jawed, super-sized American.
‘Where exactly is Tooting?’ asked another, clueless.
As they left the execs and worked their way around the party, Harvey and Lola were trailed by the official event photographer, who occasionally stepped forward to take a snap. Whenever Lola met one of the celebrity guests, Barbara would make sure he had access to the best angle. He shot her feigning interest in Slam Carter’s explanation of the offside rule, imitating the latest internet dance craze with Ruby Marlow, and being advised on how to give the perfect tit wank by Bunny Love.