Free Divas by Rebecca Chance

have been able to bear the humiliation slightly better.
    This one, however, resembled a reader’s wife photo from Razzle magazine.
    Patricia’s bosoms were the size of footballs and placed so high on the ribcage that she could barely see over them. The Adam’s apple had been shaved, too. Her hair was dyed a harsh
dark brown, clearly by herself out of a packet, and her pores were so big they’d probably have been visible from the moon. Patricia had been caught by the photographer clutching together
– not very successfully – the edges of a ratty velour dressing gown, coming down the steps of her housing estate, following the paramedics carrying Jean-Marc’s stretcher.
Concrete, stained, windswept, covered in graffiti, with a group of jeering hoodies making V-signs at the camera from one of the crumbling walkways, the estate looked, compared to the luxury of the
Claverford mansion, like the seventh circle of hell.
    ‘She looks like a total whore, ’ Georgia observed.
    ‘A total whore crossed with a really rough cleaning lady, ’ Devon added.
    ‘She doesn’t even look like a whore , ’ Madison sighed. ‘She looks like an Eastern European madam who pimps out her daughters . I mean, who’d pay
to get with that? ’
    ‘ My fiancé! ’ Lola sobbed, breaking down in tears.
    Madison wordlessly shook out another white pill and handed it to Lola, who managed to control her tears enough to swallow it obediently. The doorbell rang, and was answered by Devon’s
housekeeper, Josefina. As the door opened, there was an uproar from outside, shouts from the gathered paparazzi of, ‘Lola! Come out and talk to us!’ ‘Lola, have you heard from
Jean-Marc?’ ‘Come on, Lola, at least give us a photo!’
    India rushed into the room.
    ‘I brought London Nite! ’ she cried, brandishing a copy of the freebie paper. ‘Wait till you see the cover!’ Then she spotted Lola, and her face fell. ‘Lo! I
didn’t think you’d be up yet! Um—’ She made a ridiculously clumsy attempt at hiding the paper behind her back.
    Lola held out her hand, still crying.
    ‘India, don’t—’ Devon started.
    ‘Ah, come on, ’ Madison drawled. ‘The Vicodin’ll kick in any second now.’
    Lola was beginning to feel light-headed. India crossed the room to give her the paper, saying dubiously:
    ‘Maybe it’s best just to, you know, see it all at once and get it over with . . .’
    But, unfolding London Nite , Lola wasn’t so sure. It was worse than she could possibly have imagined. Devon’s driver hadn’t, as she had thought, carried her out of
Raisin-Face’s house in his arms: he’d slung her over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift. And the photographers had had a field day with that. The photo on the front of the paper was
mainly of her bottom, the combination of her white jeans and the upwards angle making it look mortifyingly enormous. The sandal with the snapped heel dangled off her foot. She looked like a
broken-down doll. With a big white bottom.
    ‘What’s the headline?’ Devon asked.
    ‘Um . . .’ India looked as though she’d rather be anywhere than there. ‘ IT’S ALL GONE ARSE UP FOR LOLA !’ she mumbled eventually. ‘I’m so
sorry, Lola . . .’
    ‘Oh, Jesus , ’ Madison said.
    A trilling from one of the phones on the table made Lola jump: she recognised her ring.
    ‘It’s been going madly, ’ Georgia said. ‘We haven’t answered it . . .’
    Lola grabbed the phone and checked the number. Her father’s lawyer, George Goldman! Trusty George, who had worked for Daddy longer than Lola could remember, the very person Daddy had
always told Lola to ring if she ran into any trouble. Just the person she needed to talk to! Eagerly, she pressed the key to answer and babbled:
    ‘George! Hi, it’s me!’
    ‘Lola? Honey, how you doing?’
    No matter how upmarket George’s legal practice was, he’d never lost his New Jersey accent completely. Benny, Lola’s father, had always respected him for