Divas

by Rebecca Chance

  But how could she afford to stay here?

  Just then, her phone rang. She watched it vibrate and jerk on the arm of the chair, unable for a moment to find the strength to pick it up and answer the call. But at last, gingerly, she pressed the answer button.

  ‘Lola! Darling, is that you?’

  She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. The soft voice; the accent that was a mix of his French mother, his Danish father, his English education and now the faintest overlay of time spent in America; the way he always called her ‘Darling’ so caressingly—

  ‘Jean-Marc?’ she exclaimed.

  ‘Yes! It’s me!’ he carolled happily. ‘Blast from the past!’

  ‘The past? It’s only been a week!’

  ‘So much has happened to me, Lola darling, ’ Jean-Marc said joyously, ‘it feels like months and months! Oh, I can’t wait to tell you everything! Where are you?’

  ‘In New York, ’ Lola said, still very confused. ‘Are you ringing from rehab?’

  ‘In New York? Oh my God, how fabulous! So am I! Come round immediately! I’m in the family suite at the Plaza. Too old-fashioned, but in a fantastic way.’

  ‘You’re—’ So much was happening to Lola that she felt quite dizzy again: she took a deep breath and collected her thoughts. ‘But what about Arizona? I thought you were supposed to stay in rehab for at least a month?’

  Jean-Marc made a noise she couldn’t identify over a mobile phone: but it sounded as if he’d put his lips together and blown a raspberry.

  ‘Darling, come round now, ’ he insisted, ‘and I’ll tell you everything. There’s much too much to tell you over the phone, and I want to see you! My little golden Lola! Jump in a cab, I’ll see you in twenty minutes.’

  He hung up. Lola stared at the phone in disbelief. And then she jumped up and ran into the bedroom to start pulling her clothes out of Madison’s wardrobe and into her suitcases. She had never been in the Van der Veer suite at the Plaza before; when she and Jean-Marc were together in New York they had always stayed at a downtown boutique hotel. But considering how rich the Van der Veers were, there had to be at least four bedrooms in a family suite.

  Besides, Jean-Marc owed it to her to take her in. He had, after all, humiliated her in all the British, American and European tabloids. A bedroom at the Plaza was the least he could give her in return . . .

  Oh, the bliss of getting out of a cab at the Plaza and having the doorman instantly whisk all her cases out of the trunk and onto one of those gold metal trolleys as she trod up the carpet into the beautiful foyer, another doorman holding the door open for her obsequiously, the concierge coming forward to say that Mr van der Veer had rung down to say that she was on her way and to go straight up, her luggage would follow by the service elevator . . . She felt like Lola Fitzgerald again, rich, privileged, spoilt, and it was simply wonderful.

  When Jean-Marc, waiting for her at the door of the suite, dragged her inside, she could see instantly that there would be more than enough space for her here. Through the door of the living-room she could see rooms upon rooms stretching away, like a kaleidoscope when you twist it and it shows you endless variations of the same object: bedrooms, sitting-rooms, as far as the eye could see, all done up in luxurious shades of beige and gold and dull reds, muted and tasteful.

  ‘It isn’t really us, ’ Jean-Marc admitted, taking her hand and leading her to an enormous, over-stuffed sofa, ‘it’s a bit classic and old-school, but darling, it’s insanely comfortable.’

  They sank into the sofa, still holding hands.

  ‘Now have some champagne, ’ Jean-Marc continued, ‘we’ve got so much to toast!’

  He reached for a bottle of champagne, which was nestling in a big silver ice bucket, along, Lola noticed, with two others still unopened.

  ‘Are you supposed to be drinking?’ she couldn’t help asking.

  Jean-Marc giggled. He looked great, she had to admit. His skin was lightly tanned and smooth, the whites of his eyes were as clear as ever, and his pupils weren’t dilated, the telltale sign of drug use. His golden hair was pushed back from his face in a careless series of curls, and his blue eyes danced with happiness. She thought, too, that he had put on a few pounds, which definitely suited him: in the last days in London he had been too thin, which in retrospect had clearly been the drugs devouring him, taking away his appetite.

  ‘I’m drug-free, ’ he announced, pouring her a glass and topping up his own. There was a third flute of champagne, half-drunk, which Jean-Marc refilled too. Lola parted her lips to ask whose it was, but Jean-Marc overrode her; he was in full flow. ‘I can’t give up everything, my God, that would be so boring! And besides, Lola, I had the biggest breakthrough. The biggest. I have to thank Niels so much, I should get down on my knees and thank him every day for sending me to that horrible place—’

  ‘You should certainly get down on your knees, darling, ’ said a new voice with a light American accent. ‘Whether it should be to your brother, though, is a whole different story.’

  ‘David!’ Jean-Marc jumped up, picking up the third glass. ‘Darling! Here, we’re toasting!’

  The man had emerged from a door in the foyer which, from its placement, must be a bathroom. From Lola’s vantage point on the sofa she had a good view of him: slim, hyper-elegant, with slicked-back black hair, dark as paint, and eyes even bluer than Jean-Marc’s. He was wearing a tight long-sleeved navy T-shirt with faint embroidery over one shoulder, jeans snug enough to leave it in no doubt on which side he hung, and a belt with a diamanté buckle. He took the proffered glass and wrapped his arm around Jean-Marc’s waist, so that they both faced Lola, a matched pair, one blond, one dark, blue-eyed and smiling with elation.

  ‘Lola, darling, this is David!’ Jean-Marc announced delightedly. ‘My boyfriend! Oh Lola, I’ve come out! I’m gay! Isn’t it wonderful?’

  And the boys turned to each other in unison, as if choreographed, and kissed, a long passionate kiss, their champagne glasses meeting simultaneously with a clink that rang like a pair of tiny bells.

  Chapter 14

  Lola got up, of course, glass in hand, to embrace the happy couple, and there was much hugging and toasting and clinking of glasses and general rejoicing before they all sat down again, David and Jean-Marc curled together on the big sofa, Lola in a very generously sized armchair.

  ‘I ordered some food, ’ Jean-Marc said. ‘Sushi, and edamame beans and strawberries for you, darling.’

  David looked baffled.

  ‘No, not you!’ Jean-Marc giggled. ‘My other darling. Lola exists on edamame beans and strawberries.’

  ‘And sashimi, ’ Lola added.

  ‘God, you must be hungry all the time, ’ David exclaimed.

  ‘I am, really, ’ Lola admitted.

  ‘So! I’ll tell you everything, and then you tell me everything!’ Jean-Marc said happily. He cuddled up against David, who started stroking his blond curls. Lola felt a sudden wave of jealousy: this was exactly how she and Jean-Marc used to sit, curled up together, caressing each other like puppies or kittens who lick and groom each other continually.

  ‘Are you OK with all this, Lola?’ David asked. ‘I mean, it must be quite a shock for you.’

  Lola noted he was acute enough to have picked up on her change of mood, and gave him points for that.

  ‘Actually, I am, ’ she said, knowing it was true, despite her wash of envy at seeing Jean-Marc in someone else’s arms. ‘Honestly, as soon as Jean-Marc said he was gay, I thought: Well, of course you are! Why didn’t any of us realise it before?’

  ‘Oh my God, that’s exactly how I felt. Exactly, ’ Jean-Marc said, drinking some champagne. ‘I mean, all that stuff with Patricia—’ he looked guiltily at Lola. ‘I’m so sorry again for dragging you through all of that, Lo. I mean, coming out’s one thing, but all that scandal, the overdose, the tranny stuff—’

  ‘And not even a pretty tranny!’ David chimed in. ‘A pig-ugly one! I mean, honestly, Jean, what were you
thinking?’

  Jean-Marc sighed deeply.

  ‘Darling, we’ve been through this, ’ he said, reaching up a hand to stroke David’s, which was resting on his shoulder. ‘You heard me say it in group. I wasn’t thinking. It was all just blind panic and running away from my problems. Running away from my sexuality. I hated myself, and I hated the fact that I was about to get married – sorry, darling—’

  He glanced apologetically at Lola, who flipped a hand to indicate that he shouldn’t worry on her behalf. She noticed, as she did so, that her manicure was badly chipped. Well, that wouldn’t be a problem any more. She could afford any beauty treatment she needed. Lola wriggled in her chair with pure pleasure at the thought.

  ‘I mean, if I had to marry anyone, any woman, I mean, ’ Jean-Marc continued, ‘it would be my darling Lo.’

  ‘Oh God yes!’ David agreed. ‘I mean, look at her! She’s so beautiful! And you could have so much fun dressing her up – she’s like a gorgeous little doll, and her boobs and ass aren’t big, she could wear anything—’

  ‘I know, ’ Jean-Marc said. ‘I used to dress her up all the time, it was so much fun . . .’

  They both tilted their heads to the side and stared approvingly at Lola, David’s dark head resting on Jean-Marc’s blond one, two pairs of blue eyes beaming at her.

  ‘You can still buy me clothes and dress me up, ’ she assured them. ‘I’ve only got three cases with me.’

  ‘Oooh, shopping for girls’ shoes!’ David sang, clapping his hands. ‘My fave thing in the world!’

  A few doors down, someone was moving around the suite; it was the bellhop, leaving Lola’s cases.

  ‘Would you give him a twenty from my wallet, darling?’ Jean-Marc said to David. ‘And tell him to send up housekeeping to unpack for Lola? Thank you, darling.’

  As David jumped up to carry out these instructions, Jean-Marc readjusted himself, sitting up straighter. He was in his usual outfit of fitted silk shirt over slim jeans and suede loafers; Eurotrash style converted so well to gay-about-town that he hadn’t needed to change his look at all when he came out.

  ‘David’s a godsend, ’ he said fervently. ‘He saved me. Really, he saved my life.’

  ‘So how did you meet?’ Lola asked, finishing her champagne and reaching for a cigarette. ‘I still don’t understand why you’re not in rehab—’ and, frankly, why it’s OK for you to be drinking, she wanted to add. But she thought it best to take one step at a time. As it were.

  ‘We met in rehab! That’s the amazing thing! I was such a wreck when I arrived – well, you saw me. Was it only last week?’ he reflected. ‘My God, I can’t believe it. It feels like an eternity, so much has happened . . . Anyway, I arrived quite late at night and they put me in a room by myself, but the next day they woke me up for group at some frighteningly early hour—’

  ‘Nine in the morning, godawful, ’ David said, re-entering the room.

  ‘So, ’ Jean-Marc continued, ‘I walked into the room where group was – God, I tottered, I was barely walking – and there he was. A blue-eyed angel in tight jeans. I looked at him and he looked back at me and I just knew. I mean, all pretence was gone by this time. And also, to be totally frank, as soon as I laid eyes on David I got the most enormous hard-on.’

  David, on the hotel phone ordering food, collapsed with a fit of giggles and had to apologise to the person he was talking to.

  ‘So I mean, I knew I was gay at that point, ’ Jean-Marc said so seriously that Lola got the giggles too.

  ‘I should say so, ’ she commented. ‘Did you get a hard-on too, David?’

  ‘Gigantic, ’ David mouthed, still on the phone, holding his hands a foot apart to indicate its size.

  ‘So there we were!’ Jean-Marc said. ‘Just in mad, total lust! And it was perfect, because it was literally the first thing I said in group – not that I was totally in lust with David, of course, but that I was gay. And it was the first time I’d ever said it, naturally, and everyone clapped. I was terrified, but it was the proudest moment of my life.’

  ‘I was so proud of you!’ David said, his call finished, plopping down on the sofa behind his lover. ‘So proud! I just wanted to run over and kiss you then and there.’

  ‘It didn’t take us long, did it?’ Jean-Marc said smugly.

  ‘After lunch I cornered him in the smoking area, ’ David added happily.

  ‘He said if I needed any practical help he was there for me, ’ Jean-Marc smiled.

  ‘Ooh, I was smooth, wasn’t I?’ David said.

  ‘I didn’t know you could have sex in rehab, ’ Lola said.

  The boys rolled their eyes in unison.

  ‘You’re not supposed to, ’ Jean-Marc said, ‘but I just couldn’t keep my hands off him. It was amazing. David’s my drug of choice now, ’ Jean-Marc said happily. ‘I’m addicted to David. And I realised, once I’d come out, everything was all right!’

  ‘I’m so happy for you both, ’ Lola assured them. ‘And I’m really fine with Jean-Marc coming out, and us not getting married, because honestly, I look back and I wonder, what was I thinking? No offence, Jean-Marc—’

  He shook his head fervently, his golden curls dancing, to show that none was taken.

  ‘But I knew, ’ she continued, ‘I knew deep down it wasn’t what it was supposed to be. No matter how happy we were.’

  ‘Oh darling, we were so happy!’

  Jean-Marc stretched out a hand to her, and she came out of her seat to take it. He pulled her towards him, till she was sitting on the sofa too, and the two boys adjusted to make room for her, so they were all curled up together. Jean-Marc’s hand came up to stroke her hair, and David smiled sweetly down at her, and it was all so lovely, so welcoming, so safe, after all her struggles, that she burst into floods of tears.

  Jean-Marc, who cried at the drop of a hat, at the sight of a cute puppy in the street or even the mention of a sad film, started sobbing too, and though David didn’t actually cry (which Lola was grateful for, as she would have considered it a bit hypocritical, considering that her and Jean-Marc’s tears were mourning their dreams of a life together as the perfect heterosexual golden couple) he hugged them both, and mumbled nice things, and got up to get them both tissues, and opened the door to the room service person who was bringing their food.

  ‘Oh dear, ’ Jean-Marc said eventually, wiping his eyes. ‘We could still have our lovely golden children, Lola, if you want.’

  ‘Oh, that would be fantastic!’ David cried, tipping the room service person from Jean-Marc’s wallet. ‘They’d be the prettiest kids in the whole world!’

  ‘I’ll think about it, ’ Lola promised, smiling as she dried her face. ‘God, I must look like a wreck.’

  ‘You are a little puffy, ’ David said honestly.

  ‘We’ll get someone in to give her a facial, ’ Jean-Marc said. ‘And anything else you want, Lo. What do you want? Just say the word. I owe you so much. I’ll never be able to repay you for letting you down like that. The wedding being cancelled. And all that awful, awful stuff in the press.’

  ‘I need a lot of money, ’ Lola said simply. ‘For lawyers. And somewhere to stay.’

  ‘Mi casa es su casa, ’ David said, laying out the food on the coffee table in front of the sofa, so no one had to get up. ‘Well, it’s Jean-Marc’s casa, technically, but I don’t know how to say “his” in Spanish.’

  ‘Not “his”, “ours”. It’s nuestra, ’ Jean-Marc said fondly. ‘Nuestra casa, darling. Our house. Stay as long as you want, Lo. You’ve got a whole suite down at the end, you never need to see us if you don’t want to. And I’ll get a card made for you on my account. I’m getting one for David, too.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘At least I haven’t had my trust fund cut off by my awful stepmother!’

  ‘Is that what happened to you?’ David asked Lola, eyes wide.

  ‘Yes, tell us everything, ’ Jean-Marc said, picking up his chopsticks and selecting a salmon-skin roll from the sushi platter in front o
f him.

  So Lola began.

  By tea-time the next day, Lola was almost perfectly back to her usual state of exquisite, groomed glossiness. Her hair and nails were done, her legs and bikini line waxed; she had had a long lovely facial, a detoxifying wrap, a full-body massage, and she was BeauBronzed from head to toe, a flawless spray tan. She even had an appointment with the best eyebrow specialist in town, in two days’ time, and being able to get one at such short notice was a minor miracle that told her God truly was looking out for her now. Her luck had turned. She had rung George, told him there would be no problem about any bills at all, no matter how large, and instructed him to hurry up the lawyer who was filing some sort of motion for her to get access to her father.

  In short, every pressing need had been met. She hadn’t even bothered to get dressed so far today, as a procession of beauticians had come to her, filing in and out of her large, luxurious set of rooms – bedroom, bathroom, living-room – at the far end of the Van der Veer suite. She was lounging on her sofa in a silk negligee, watching her plasma TV, or, rather, flicking idly through the channels, one trashy and addictive reality show after another, when she heard someone let themselves in through the main door of the suite, far away down the long series of rooms.

  ‘Jean-Marc?’ she called. ‘David?’

  David was at work, Jean-Marc gone out for lunch and shopping, and they had all arranged to meet up in the early evening and have dinner somewhere unspecified, maybe catch a movie. Jean-Marc and David had banned themselves from going near clubs of any description, because those places were so rife with drugs, and Lola was more than fine with that: after the drama and upsets of the past week, a series of simple evenings spent on dinner-and-a-movie dates with the two boys was all the social life she felt she would need for weeks to come.

  It did seem a little early for them to be back, though.

  She got up, slipping on the silk robe that matched her negligee, and padded on bare feet out of her living-room and down the internal corridor. Maybe some delivery had come in, or someone had come to change the flowers – Jean-Marc was obsessed with lovely arrangements and insisted they always be as fresh as possible – but it seemed odd that they wouldn’t have rung up first, to alert her that someone was coming in . . .