The Girl in the Yellow Dress PART ONE

The final drag was soothing. She flicked away the butt as she walked. Some kids in school uniforms, definitely several years younger than herself judging by the bad acne and overproducted hair – overproducted? Was that a word? Mental note: look that one up back at the hotel – anyway, they noticed her and started screaming. One of them grabbed her hair. She tucked it beneath the collar of her Chanel coat.

            Lola Lily! Oh my God, it’s Lola Lily!

And the madness started again.

Greasy hands reached for her. Paul pushed them back. The walk to car was always a total nightmare. She did not smile for them. Losers.

Whaddya fink of London, Lola? It was the bucktoothed dweeby girl at the front speaking.

Cold, Lola said without looking up.

Well bad about New York, innit? Some people jumped right out’a windows. Hey, ain’t that where you’re from?

If you don’t got nothin’ nice to say, den don’t be sayin’ nothin’ at awll, came her mother’s voice inside her head.

With one arm holding back the kids, Paul opened the car door. Lola flumped down into the backseat, removing her sunglasses and taking out her compact. She reapplied gloss - No.6, Cherry Plump. Stupid cold always left her flushed. After a coating of powder, she mustered an air kiss to the school kids, who went totally apeshit as per.

Paul swore under his breath while he searched for keys. Lola sank into the seat, sighing and folding her arms. ‘What was that girl saying about New York? Was she kidding?’

Martin’s head shuffled in the passenger seat and turned, grunting loudly at the required effort and furrowing his fat, desperately-in-need-of-a-pluck eyebrows so that they were almost fused together. He licked his chapped lips before speaking. ‘I dunno.’ (Lie.) ‘I think I heard something might have happened. A fire, explosion or something, but- ’

‘Explosion! Mom- ’

‘Nothing to worry about, though. We’re flying back tomorrow, hopefully- I mean- ’

‘Hopefully?’

He turned away, fingering his phone. ‘Planes are a bit haywire right now. Hard to get a flight, so- ’

‘Someone must be willing to fly Lola Lily home! Is Mom okay? Jesus, Martin, this is so typical YOU. No need to keep Lola in the loop, she’s only the freakin’ one makin’ the freakin’ music.’

Her voice reverted back to its thick accent, despite Martin’s constant encouragements to bury it.

‘Rein it in, Lola.’ His voice was cold. ‘We’re filming the video here next week anyway. Maybe it would be best to just stay here `til then. You know, soak up the culture.’

‘Have you spoken to my Mom?’

‘Lola, chill. It’s nothing.’

‘Martin- ’

‘Chill.’

She sat back, her breath shaky. An explosion? She would ring her Mom as soon as they reached the studio, just to say hi. Just to hear her voice. She remembered her sixth birthday, shopping with her Mom in the city. She had lost her in Times Square and cried for what felt like hours.

The school kids’ voices trailed after them as the car pulled away. I LOVE YOU, LOLA!

Lola was searching Times Square for her mother’s face.

DAYDREAM IS AMAZING!

A familiar silhouette, braids swinging, was running towards her.

YOU’RE SO BEAUTIFUL!

Her mother was smiling.

MARRY ME, LOLA!

Tears streamed down it.

YOU ARE MY IDOL!

Their tears mixed together as they embraced.

I WANNA FUCK YOU UP THE ARSE.

‘Oh my God, did you hear that?’

Martin shifted slightly. ‘Hmm?’

‘That boy. Gross, what a creep!’

‘Oh right. Yeah, I know.’

‘Well Jesus, Martin, don’t sound too concerned.’

He sported his usual scrunched-up expression. ‘Just forget it, Lola. These kids today... they’re stupid, you know.’

‘Don’t need to tell me twice. God. I’ll give him ‘arse’.’

Martin and Paul shared one of their typical she’s-so-stupid-sometimes smiles.

‘What?’

‘Hmm?’

‘Can I have my phone, please?’ She outstretched her palm swiftly, so swiftly that it would make him see that she meant business. He would look into her face and realise that without her he was nothing. He would apologise for taking too much control, hand her her phone, let her call her Mom, organize an instantaneous flight home and give her two weeks rest before they even thought about filming and promoting the next single...

‘No. Not right now.’

‘I need to call Mom, she- ’

‘I need you focused on this next interview. It’s the big one, Saturday night televised talk show.’ He made a rainbow motion with his hand. ‘We’re filming it today so they can edit.’

Their eyes met and she scowled purposefully. The night before, she had dreamt that she was trapped. Running through a field. A huge forest surrounded it and she longed to enter, to shade herself. But no matter how far she ran, she never got closer. Birds circled the sky, waiting for her to drop. They were hungry for her. She was encased, locked in a field of yellow flowers. Her dress became yellow too, it was engulfing her. She was rooted, sinking into the ground. The birds waited. At one point Martin drove past in an SUV, wearing sunglasses. She asked him to stop. He sped up, shouting back: Not right now.

Don’t leave me here alone.

‘I need to ring my Mom.’

‘I know what you’re like; you’re the worst listener in the world. Once you get on it you’ll never get off.’

‘I need to make sure she’s- ’

‘After.’

She slumped back again, flipping open her compact.

‘No need for that,’ said Martin. ‘You’ll be getting hair and make-up done.’

She flipped the mirror shut with a crack. The vein in her temple throbbed. ‘And what else am I supposed to do, Martin? Hmm? Talk to my own mother? Nope, apparently not. Oh well, guess I’ll just apply some make-up, oh wait, no, can’t even do that! You’re just so - ’

Martin exhaled heavily through his nostrils, making his gross moustache hairs flutter. ‘I’ve spoken to your mother.’ The words came out all strung together in a rush. His eyes shifted back and forth and his voice shook a little as he spoke. ‘She’s, she’s fine... Now- now drop it, okay?’

Lola blinked, ‘Really? Well, what did she say? Is she-’

Martin drew back his lips and bared his teeth. ‘Damn it Lola, she’s fine, alright? So how `bout we discuss what you’re gonna talk about at this interview, hmm?’ He readjusted himself, wiping the sweat from under his nose. ‘Now, we’ve already sent the guy the preapproved questions: album, single, influences, video. No personal stuff, relationships etcetera. Does that sound alright?’

She shrugged moodily. ‘Sure.’

‘Good. Now remember, you’re not trying to be sexy. You’re young, you’re having fun, and if you’re sexy, hey, you’re sexy. But it’s not the aim. We need to keep that wholesome vibe.’ He looked her up and down and scratched his wiry chin. He probably had a hard-on right at that moment. Gross. ‘Oh, and enough about this whole ‘hardships of a black female thing’, okay? We’re still on damage control from the Smithson interview. Got way too heated. You can’t isolate a whole demographic like that, Lola. Remember, most people are white.’

‘Most people are not white, Martin. Geez.’

He smiled at her and reached back to stroke her knee, edging slightly into thigh territory. ‘You’ll be great.’

‘Voilà!’ He took several steps back, embarrassingly shiny loafers squeaking on the tiles. ‘You look fabulous, Miss. Lily.’

            She looked up, able to see clearly without a flurry of brushes in her face. Lola Lily stared back at her from the mirror: perfectly tousled hair, ginormous eyelashes and large neon pink lips to match her dress. Her cheeks sparkled with a sprinkling of glitter.

            ‘Thanks, Anton. You’re the sweetest.’

            Martin poked his head around the door. For the hundred-millionth time that day, Lola prepared herself to tell Martin she would not do the interview until she spoke with her mother. She would not believe it until she heard her voice for herself. ‘So, what’s the schedule?’

             ‘We’re headed to the green room first. You’ll just have to sit and watch the others being interviewed; you’re on last, naturally. There’re usually four guests but they’re giving you double time. Come on then.’

She strode along the corridor with her arms swinging at her sides, having long ago mastered the art of walking in stilettos.

            The process of watching the other interviews left her distinctly unfascinated. She kept zoning out, eyeing the bulge of her phone in Martin’s pocket, only to be brought back by a mention of her name, at which point she would have to smile and put on a laugh.

            The presenter was ... interesting. She couldn’t work him out. His suit was too shiny. Very `80s sad disco. His hair was long at the front but short at the back, in some kind of weird reverse mullet-slash-curtained look. Tragic. And he spoke with a slight lisp. He was kind of funny though, when she paid attention.

            She sat slightly removed from the other guests. Martin on one side; Paul and Anton on the other. Guest One, a middle-aged author, said nothing to her, but the second guy - Sam? - gave her a smile and mouthed the words I love your new song. Clearly gay as the day is long.

Even the interviewer seemed bored by the author-woman, and before Lola knew it Possibly-Sam was shaking the guy’s hand and saying thanks for having him, as if he had been allowed to play out at a friend’s house. The audience seemed to like him. They cheered pretty loudly, a solid 7.5.

 But then the presenter said something about welcoming his next guest. Exploded onto the scene three years ago. 30 million record sales. Only nineteen. Ladies and Gentlemen.

            LOLA LILY.

            And the crowd went fucking mental.