Free To the Devil - a Diva! by Paul Magrs Page B

Lance’s liking. He clicked her off. Who next?
    He was stymied and cross all over again. Standing barefoot on the stripped pine of his living room.
    He had to get out of his flat. Suddenly the whole apartment seemed claustrophobic.
    He yanked his trainers on and thundered out onto his terrace, down his private fire escape and into Slag! bar next door. He realised he’d brought the scrunched-up Daily Mirror with him.
    The upstairs bar was just about empty and looking, in the morning light, even more like an airport departures lounge. There were wide Bridget Riley-type canvases that swirled vertiginously on every side.
    Lance hurried to the copper-plated bar. No public here. He ordered a gin and tonic. The bar staff knew his habits. It was that skinny lad Colin serving on, in a black T-shirt, ‘Slag!’ in silver letters between his nipples. His hair was tweaked up in red spikes.
    â€˜Nice hairdo,’ Lance growled.
    Colin grinned. ‘Thanks!’
    â€˜OK, don’t get carried away. Have you seen this fucking travesty?’ He spread the paper out on the beaten copper of the bar top.
    â€˜Oh,’ said Colin, pouring tonic on ice, making it glisten and crack. ‘I have, as a matter of fact. My gran gets the Sun , but it’s the same story in there.’
    â€˜You still living with your gran?’
    Colin nodded. He pushed the chunky drink into Lance’s waiting hand. ‘Until I get some sugar daddy whisking me away, yep. Up in the tower block with me old gran. She’sa barmaid, too. All her life. Says there’s nowt wrong with it.’
    â€˜Nice,’ said Lance.
    Colin peered at the headline about Karla Sorenson and turned to pages four and five. ‘Isn’t it good news, though? She’s what I call a real, old-time star.’
    â€˜Is she?’ said Lance bitterly. ‘I wouldn’t.’
    â€˜Oh, but she’s been around years, hasn’t she? She’s as old as my gran, I think. And look at her! Still a goer! Still a slagbag!’ Colin was hugging himself with pleasure.
    â€˜And that’s good, is it?’
    â€˜Oh, yes,’ said the barboy, clutching the tall pumps thoughtfully. ‘I’m not like the rest of them you see in here. With them, you’re dead if you’re over twenty-five. It’s all the cult of youth. No, I can see why you’d want to live longer … to live as long as her and still be out there, being sexy.’ He smiled shyly at Lance. ‘Or your age, even. You’ve lasted pretty well, Mr Randall.’
    Lance looked at him and smiled stiffly. ‘Well, that’s as maybe …’
    â€˜I finish at one,’ said Colin.
    â€˜Pardon?’
    â€˜My shift. I’m free all afternoon.’
    â€˜So?’
    â€˜I don’t know. Just in case. If you feel like showing me round your apartment. I’ve had a spy through the window from the terrace bar. It looks very nice.’
    Lance shook his head disbelievingly. ‘I’m afraid I’m very busy this afternoon, Colin. And besides …’
    The barboy laughed. ‘And besides, you’re not queer.’
    â€˜That’s right.’
    â€˜I was only after having a look round your studio pad, you know.’
    â€˜Yeah, right,’ Lance laughed, and necked the last of his gin. ‘And next thing you knew, we would be up to all sorts of impromptu naughtiness. Just like it is on TV.’
    â€˜Well, wouldn’t it be like that?’
    Lance put his glass down. ‘No. I’m not gay.’
    â€˜Yeah. Right.’
    â€˜Anyway. There’s bigger things at stake this afternoon, than a little tumble in the hay with an overkeen barman …’
    â€˜Suit yourself.’
    â€˜I do,’ Lance grinned.
    â€˜What’s got you so worked up, anyway? Scared that Karla Sorenson’s gonna take the limelight off you?’
    Lance grew suddenly grim. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m scared