LITMIR.BIZ

       CHAPTER 8

      They were a match made in PR heaven.

      Lola stifled a yawn and let her eyes drift around Valhalla, the hottest new restaurant opening in West Hollywood. Across the room, she noticed a group of yuppie agent types laughing and joking at a prestigious corner table. Standing at the bar behind them were a group of young men in sports coats, who looked like they were out past their bedtime. Lola’s eyes lingered on the group as she caught a glimpse of Lucas at the centre of the group. As their eyes met, Lola looked quickly away; she wasn’t in the mood for Lucas’s superior attitude. Finally, she turned back to her dinner date Brody Evans, who was still regaling her with a tale about an incredible play he’d made during the big game the night before.

      “You were amazing,” Lola said, knowing that this would be enough contribution from her to keep Brody satisfied. In the aftermath of their lunch at the Chateau Marmont, Tyler and Amber had moved quickly and this show-mance had been borne out of what Tyler called their mutual needs. Brody had spent two seasons on the bench because of a knee injury and needed to broaden his profile if he was to hold on to his endorsement deals and for Lola the romance would accelerate the perfume deals and up her Personal Appearance fees.

      “What do I actually have to do?” Lola had asked. And Tyler had given an amused smile.

      “You’re hot, he’s hot, do what beautiful people do and I’ll make sure the photographers are there to capture every beautiful moment.”

      Lola took a sip from her glass of sparkling water and stared at Brody again, watching as he chomped down on a piece of steak and stared at his cell phone. When he wasn’t talking about football, Brody tended to fall silent. Lola saw that he was texting on his phone, occasionally guffawing at a text message. This was the pattern their dates had taken – stilted conversation, awkward smiles that didn’t quite meet their eyes and then silence. Brody had that Midwest gentleman thing going for him, but to Lola he seemed almost childlike and there was zero spark between them.

      “Do you want to hit a club?” Lola asked, the words spilling out before she could think them through. She’d been on her best behaviour for months now, but slowly Lola had started to feel the old restlessness creep back. She was bored, this scene bored her, the new power-driven Amber bored her; she needed to scratch an itch. Brody looked up startled. And Lola concealed another sigh. This was another problem. Brody didn’t like to go out. What kind of NFL player was he? It was practically un-American and yet their every date had ended with a chaste kiss and then Brody had driven off into the night. Perhaps he was gay, Lola mused, that would explain why he needed to be fixed up on a faux-mance.

      “Tonight?” Brody asked. “I’m pretty beat and I was going to drop in on the guys, pump some iron…” Lola had heard enough.

      “That’s OK,” she answered sweetly, though it really wasn’t.

      As they emerged from Valhalla a small cluster of photographers snapped off several pictures, but Lola barely paid them any attention. She stalked ahead of Brody, not caring whether or not he was behind her. She was tired of playing nice. With her licence still suspended, Lola was stuck with being chauffeured around everywhere and she sighed with relief as her car rounded the corner.

      “Thanks for dinner,” Lola said brusquely, her air kiss metres away from Brody’s cheek.

      “We should hook up…” Brody began but his words were cut off by the slam of Lola’s door. She’d already hopped into the back of her car.

      Lola curled up in the plush leather seats of the car and watched Saturday night unfold all along Sunset Boulevard. She longed to jump out of the car, leave the tinted windows behind and be part of the life happening on the streets. How had she become this shadow of herself? Once she had been the life of the party. And suddenly Lola was enraged, she wanted to fight and she knew exactly where to take her rage.

      “Mom!”

      Lola’s call echoed through the house but the only response was silence. It had been months since she had set foot in this house. Months since Scarlet had let it be known that she was no longer welcome here. Lola’s gaze darted around the vast open living space. She stared at the huge Warhol mounted above the fireplace and she had an urge to shove a knife through the canvas and destroy her mother’s pride and joy.

      Lola toed off her platform shoes and padded barefoot to the kitchen. Without thinking about it she reached for a bottle of her mother’s most expensive whisky and twisted the top off, pouring a generous measure into a coffee mug.

      “What the hell are you doing here?” Lola spun around, startled to see Scarlet staring at her, red-faced and furious. A slow smile unfolded across Lola’s face and she took a deliberate sip of the whisky. She felt the tension uncurl within her as the warm liquid hit the back of her throat.

      “What does it look like?” Lola’s retort had Scarlet shaking her head.

      “I don’t have time for this.”

      “I thought you might have missed me, Mother,” Lola sniped and was rewarded by a reddening of Scarlet’s cheeks.

      “You’re a fucking liability,” Scarlet shrieked and Lola gloried in seeing her mother lose control. Scarlet Wilde, Hollywood’s serial bride might have reinvented herself as a veg-eating, animal rights-loving teetotaller, but Lola knew what still lurked beneath the surface. Scarlet’s conversion had come in the wake of a string of flop movies and Lola knew that her mother would do anything to be back in the A-List, pity for her then that a woman of almost fifty was probably more likely to be eaten by a unicorn on Malibu beach than star in a studio movie.

      “I’m a liability, I’m a liability,” Lola laughed and took another sip of the whisky. “Well I guess I learned from the best.”

      “You are an embarrassment,” Scarlet lashed out again. “Parading around everywhere waiting for the photographers to see you. Jeez, you’d think you’d have more class.”

      “This from a woman who gets married more often than most women change their panties.”

      Lola didn’t see Scarlet move, didn’t see the hand coming. The hand that struck her was swift, the slap ringing out in the quiet kitchen and then a deathly silence fell. Slowly, Lola put her cup down; she saw the shock on Scarlet’s face.

      “I didn’t mean…” her mother began. But Lola was already walking away. She heard her mother’s bare feet slapping on the tiled floors as she scurried after her.

      “You think I’m an embarrassment now?” Lola snapped as she spun around to face her mother. Lola gave a dangerous smile as she met Scarlet’s gaze. “Just you wait.” Scooping up her high-heeled shoes, Lola swept out of the house and slammed the front door so hard that paintings on the wall shook.