Black Diamond

“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.

CHAPTER 9

The sun was setting over the River Cherwell as Grace walked back from her tutorial, crossing over Magdalen Bridge. Grace slowed her steps, moving to lean over the bridge as she watched the sky. From below, there was a burst of laughter and Grace looked down to see a group of students on two punts pushing through the water, with more enthusiasm than skill. Grace sighed. Trinity Term, the Oxford summer term, was over, her room back at Hennies had been packed up, there was no avoiding it now; she had to go home for the summer. The sun had almost completely disappeared and the punters were disappearing around a bend in the river. Reluctantly, Grace grabbed her bag up and continued the walk back to College. The last few weeks of term had flown by and Grace had been aware of a certain lightness in her; even Vicky had noticed the difference.

“Why are you smiling?” she’d asked Grace once, as they’d completed another shift serving dinner at Newman. Grace had shrugged and said nothing but Vicky had thrown her a knowing smile and rolled her eyes. Grace had recounted the events to Vicky – the dropped potato and then the incident outside the lecture theatre and talking with Matt.

“You shouldn’t get all moony about him,” Vicky said with her usual pragmatism. Grace rewarded her friend with a glare.

“I’m not mooning,” she snapped.

“You barely even noticed when Nessa screamed at you.” Grace shook her head and they’d carried on towards College.

But now as she slowly threaded her way down Turl Street, she knew that Vicky had seen through her. Since that day, when they had talked, Matt nodded to her whenever he saw her, he greeted her with a smile on the rare occasions when she’d ended up serving him in Hall. He had never purposely sought her out and yet somehow Grace knew that he was protecting her from The Gatsbies. There had been sidelong looks and glances from Poppy and the others, but none of the unkind words that Grace had feared; there was no doubt about it, Matt was her protector. Grace was embarrassed and yet she found herself daydreaming about Matt, wondering how she might orchestrate a meeting with him. And then she would catch sight of herself in a mirror and the fantasy would be broken. Matt would never look at anyone like her.

Grace sighed and she turned her mind to the journey home. By claiming pressures of college work and taking a job on the cleaning staff of the College during Easter, Grace had managed to stay away from London, away from The Pastor for most of the academic year. She had not seen her mother in months. Grace had longed for her mother to come up to Oxford, just for the first day but The Pastor had forbidden it. Grace felt a sting of guilt. She had abandoned her mother these last few months, but she gritted her teeth and pushed the feeling aside; she had done what she needed to do.

As she walked through the University Parks, Grace noticed in the distance a small group of people. Several picnic hampers had been carelessly discarded, a kissing couple slow danced and several bodies lazed on checked picnic blankets in the dull glow of the setting sun. Grace adjusted her glasses and squinted as she tried to make out their faces and then she froze. It was The Gatsbies. Her eyes turned back to the couple slow dancing and now she saw them clearly. It was Matt and in his arms was Laura. Grace felt her stomach plummet. All the inchoate fantasies that she had hardly allowed herself to give name to scattered in the wind and behind her glasses, she blinked hard. Her head down, Grace continued towards the exit that would take her to Hennies. As she stamped down on the mournful emotions that threatened to rise up in her, she thanked the gods that this time at least, her humiliation had been private.

CHAPTER 10

“You got a light?”

Lola looked up and in the dim light of the narrow alleyway at the back of Gin, yet another hot new bar, she watched a tall, powerfully built man move towards her. Long dreadlocks were pulled away from his face in a ponytail and as he walked, the long rope of hair swung from side to side, halfway down his back, almost touching his elbow. There was a directness about his gaze that disconcerted Lola and made her feel defensive. She stared back at him, determined to hold her ground. Close up, she saw that he wore the distinctive pinstriped Issey Miyake waistcoat that was the uniform of all the wait staff in the bar. As he stopped in front of her, Lola took a deep drag on her cigarette and she gave him a brief nod. She reached for his cigarette and for a moment their fingers touched. He had clean fingernails. Lola placed his cigarette against the smoking end of her lit one and watched, mesmerised as the orange glow kissed the unlit cigarette to life. She handed it back to him and continued to watch him as she exhaled.

He was tall, really tall and built. Beneath the waistcoat he wore nothing, and Lola could see his bare chest and the beginnings of a light dusting of chest hair and well defined pecs. Down one arm, snaking out from beneath the waistcoat, were an impressive set of sleeves, zigzagging up and down his biceps all the way to his wrist.

“Nice ink,” Lola said nodding at his tattoos. The waiter smiled.

“She speaks,” he replied and Lola was unprepared for the smile that crept across her face, before she quickly resumed the pout that was fast becoming her default expression.

“Don’t tell anyone,” she drawled, wondering why she was still standing outside with the help.

Lola watched the waiter lean back against a dumpster and drag deeply on the cigarette. His lips were thick and Lola looked away quickly, surprised at the flare of lust that slammed into her. Lust was no part of her life, not really. Sure there were the random hook-ups and the orchestrated ones that made it into a few magazines and the blogs, but the wash of lust as she stared at this quiet waiter with the watchful eyes was unexpected and not entirely unwelcome.

“How’s the party?” The waiter spoke and Lola shrugged.

“It’s work,” she replied unthinkingly.

“For me too.” Lola winced. She was unused to dealing with real people with real jobs.

“So how does it ‘work’ for you?” the waiter asked, his brow furrowed, and Lola dragged on the last of the cigarette and then ground the butt beneath her boot.

“New bar, wants to get a buzz, so they pay some celebrities to come hang out and be seen here.”

“Nice.” The waiter half smiled again. “How much do they pay you to do that?” His bluntness surprised her.

“How much do they pay you?” Lola shot back.

“Six bucks an hour,” he replied without missing a beat and Lola felt her skin flush as she watched him angle his head, his dreads swinging over one shoulder as he stared intently at her. “You?” he prompted again.

“Fifteen thousand.” A low whistle emerged from his lips and the waiter turned to face her directly. Lola was struck once again by how tall he was. “Paris and Kim get double that,” she muttered, wondering why she felt it necessary to justify herself to this stranger.

“Nice work if you can get it.” Lola nodded and looked up at the clear, black sky. The tedium of the conversation and the air kissing and the bullshit inside the bar had gotten to her, but as the awkward silence lengthened, all Lola wanted was to get back inside away from this silent watchful stranger, who was provoking unexpected feelings.

“You work here all the time?” Lola winced inwardly. Why was she prolonging the conversation? She turned towards him, but he was glancing at his watch. Quickly, he stubbed out his cigarette.

“Here, the Italian place at The Grove, a few places,” he finished with a smile. “Break’s over.” A rueful smile flickered across his face. Lola smiled back, a feeling of relief mingling with something else. “Have a good night,” the waiter said and in a bang of double doors, he was gone.

CHAPTER 11

The next day, Lola woke in a bad mood.

She’d tossed and turned all night and then at 5 a.m. as the sun was starting to rise, she’d fallen into a restless sleep. When she finally dragged herself out of bed, to start the day, she had the dreadlocked waiter on her mind. Hitting the gym, she put herself through a gruelling workout with the punch bags, determined to knock away the unease that had settled in the pit of her stomach and which seemed unwilling to leave. This was the problem with doing business with friends, Lola thought darkly. Once upon a time, she might have called Amber so they could hit the shops on Rodeo or at The Grove, but these days Amber was all work and no fun. Amber was always talking about strategy and media presence and ways to monetise. Lola sighed. Despite the fact that she’d been thrown out of every exclusive high school on the West Coast, she was, it seemed, finally getting a career; shame it had to come at the expense of her best friend.

After she had showered, the thought of returning to the empty apartment filled Lola with a dread that she chose not to examine too closely and instead she swung her car down Fairfax towards 3rd and headed to The Grove Mall. After she’d valet-parked Lola walked to the main thoroughfare of the mall. She glanced at her watch and sighed. She was bored and boredom, with her, usually led to trouble. With that thought she headed towards Barneys. As she strode through the high-end department store, flicking through the racks of merchandise without really noticing them, Lola bit back a sigh of irritation and flipped open her cell phone. She waved away an eager-looking assistant and listened as the phone rang and rang. No response. Lola felt anger and frustration course through her. It was happening, she thought, she was losing Amber too.

In her world, people always left. She had learned that young. Deep down, she had always marvelled that her friendship with Amber had survived quite so long. But as with everything in her life, Lola had known that it was just a matter of time.

“This is Amber, you know the drill.” Lola ended the call without leaving a message, carelessly dropping the phone into her bag. She turned back to the department store and gave it her full attention. Lola felt a thrill run through her that had little to do with the exclusive, expensive designs on display. She could buy half the store and the other half, designers would gladly gift to her for free. Since childhood, her mother’s name had meant that bundles of free designer goods routinely turned up and since her turn as Miss Golden Globe, the summer she had turned sixteen, hot up and coming designers would often ensure that packages of their latest collections made their way to her. Who better to showcase their wares for free than one of Hollywood’s up and coming It girls? But the itch that Lola longed to scratch wasn't one that shopping could reach, the adrenalin that coursed through her had little to do with embellished LBDs or this season’s Manolos. The pressure that had been building in her chest these last days would be solved by only one thing.

She grabbed the first thing, a dress and then another item and another and another, barely glancing at the items and not bothering to check sizes. These things would never be worn. Barely pausing to draw breath Lola moved towards a fitting room, drawing the curtain firmly behind her. She stared at the stash of clothes barely seeing them, feeling only the thrum of excitement. Quickly, she stashed the items into her oversized Gucci tote bag and with a deep breath she emerged from the fitting room. Lola strode towards the exit with her head held high. She nodded at the assistant, who waved her off. She gave a wide smile at a stylist she’d known for years. Lola lived for these moments, the charge of excitement coursing through her, her heart beating fast and then faster, as the exit came into sight, as she saw the daylight that lay beyond. She already had one foot outside of the store when she heard a voice.

“Miss Wilde.” Lola turned, her heart in her mouth, her pulse accelerating off the scale. “Have a nice day,” the security guard said.

Lola gave him a brilliant smile.

“You too,” she replied and continued out of the store, losing herself in the throng of mid-afternoon shoppers, her loot a pleasing weight at the bottom of her bag.

The buzz never lasted long. And by the time she had walked the length of the main concourse of the mall, Lola was already feeling altogether earthbound. She was no longer flying and she was left again with a niggling feeling of dissatisfaction. As she contemplated another session of lifting her eyes were drawn to a small Italian restaurant with its doors thrown wide open. Her position on the sidewalk gave her a clear view of the long wooden bar inside and there, behind the bar, was the dreadlocked waiter from the night before at Gin. For a moment, Lola wondered if this was what had really drawn her to The Grove today, this dreadlocked waiter who had hovered in her dreams last night. Before she could question her motives, she found herself changing direction, her legs carrying her into the restaurant. As she took a seat at the bar, casually resting her handbag and its weighty contraband on the bar stool next to her, Lola made a sudden realisation. She was nervous. She sat on the stool, waiting until finally he turned to her. What if he didn’t remember her, Lola thought suddenly. But he was already moving towards her, a half smile lighting his face.

“Hello again.”

“Right back at you,” Lola replied, working to keep her voice cool even as she felt an unexpected sense of anticipation start to grow.

“Simon.” The waiter held his hand out across the bar and Lola took it, her own small hand engulfed in his huge paw. For a moment she just stared at him and then with an embarrassed start, she realised that he was waiting for her to order. Her eyes darted across the board.

“Just a lemonade,” Lola said hurriedly and busied herself glancing at a food menu. Moments later he set a tall glass in front of her before taking her food order and advising her of the day’s specials.

“You’re from England?” Lola asked finally placing the hint of an accent that had been teasing at her.

“Mostly,” Simon smiled, hovering in front of her as he wiped down the bar. “My mother is from Jamaica and my dad is English, I’ve lived in both places.”

“Nice.” Lola took a sip of her drink and paused as the silence between them lengthened. She watched as Simon turned to serve another customer, watched as his biceps flexed and the tattoos that ran the length of his arm seemed to ripple. Lola wondered what it was that drew her to him. He wasn’t her type that was for sure. For one thing, he didn’t seem particularly on the scene and he was a waiter and yet here she was contemplating ordering carbs, just so that she could stay and continue talking to him.

Lola downed the rest of her lemonade and considered bolting for the door. She imagined what Amber might say if she saw her here now. Amber was an inveterate snob. Dating the help won’t get you on the cover of US Weekly, Lola could practically hear her friend’s voice, and that was enough to keep her rooted to the bar stool. When Simon finally turned back to her, Lola had made her mind up.

“What are you doing when you get off?” She sounded braver and more confident than she felt. Simon was silent and for a moment they stared at each other. He was not the first man that she had propositioned, not by a long shot and yet something about Simon made Lola feel like this was a noteworthy occasion. He seemed above the usual bullshit that she expected from the city. He had not mentioned her mother, had not pressed his demo CD or showreel into her palm, had not yet tried to find out who in her contacts book might be of use to him. For all of these reasons, Simon stood out, stood apart from the wannabes and the users that had been a part and parcel of her life for as long as she could remember. And so Lola held her breath and waited and hoped.

“I don’t know, you tell me,” Simon finally replied. And the breath whooshed out of Lola. “I get off at five.”

“Then I’ll see you then,” she replied.

It was approaching five when Lola emerged from the movie theatre where she’d wiled away the time, watching a film. She was striding briskly towards the restaurant where she had arranged to meet Simon when she heard someone call her name.

“Miss Wilde.” Lola turned with an irritated expression as a tall man approached her. She squinted at him, noting the stern expression on his face as he advanced towards her. “Miss Wilde,” he said again and suddenly Lola’s heart began to race as she recognised him: the security guard from the department store.

“I’m late for an appointment,” Lola said vaguely gesturing in the direction of the car park.

“This won’t take long,” the guard stated and Lola could see from the set of his mouth that this man would not be won over with smiles and flirting.

“I really have to be going.” Lola turned but the guard stepped around her to block her way. They stared at each other and Lola was filled with real panic, not the manufactured thrill that she got from lifting but a real fear that this might escalate. She was still on probation and with the wrong judge she might actually end up behind bars.

“Ma’am,” the guard spoke again. As Lola cast around for a way out of her predicament, she heard a voice.

“What’s going on?” Lola spun around and her heart sank as she saw Simon advancing towards them.

“Shit,” she muttered under her breath. Just perfect. By now Simon stood alongside them and his gaze swept from Lola to the security guard.

“Jason, man, how’s it going?” Lola’s eyes narrowed and she watched as Simon shook hands with the security guard. “Anything I can help with?” The security guard stared hard at Lola for a moment.

“There might have been some kind of….misunderstanding.” Lola watched as realisation dawned in Simon’s eyes. She looked down, unable to meet his gaze. Instinctively, she knew he would not be like any of her usual crowd, he would not cheer on her lifting.

“I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding we can fix, right buddy?” Simon said as he glanced up at the man who held her fate in his hands. Lola held her breath. She watched Jason, the security guard, shift from foot to foot and then finally he spoke.

“If the lady happened to return to the store and return or make good on her purchases, then yes this misunderstanding could be overlooked, this time.” The last words were stated with emphasis and Lola knew she was busted, that there would be no more lifting for her, not in this neighbourhood.

“Thanks, man,” Simon said watching as the huge guard lumbered slowly back towards the department store.

Lola dared a look up at Simon’s face and winced as she saw the curiosity in his eyes. There was surprisingly no judgement and yet Lola didn’t relish being looked at like a peculiarly confounding insect. Simon stretched his hand out towards her and Lola looked at him in confusion.

“What?”

“The bag,” Simon stated firmly. Lola recoiled at the thought of handing Simon her bag. Her loot was her secret treasure, she never wore anything she lifted, she stored them in a trunk and sometimes she would simply take them out, look at them, let the fabrics slide through her fingers so that she could recapture that shot of life that lifting infused her with. Lola shook her head but Simon continued to hold out his hand. “You heard the man.”

With a reluctant nod, Lola relinquished her Gucci tote. She looked down as Simon glanced into her bag. Lola felt herself deflate, she had been looking forward to her date with Simon, but she doubted getting to know you while sipping lattes was still on the cards.

“Wait here,” Simon said and Lola watched as he disappeared into the department store.

Now was her chance and after a moment, Lola began to walk towards the valet. She need never see Simon again or relive this humiliation. As she approached the valet parking section, Lola halted as she realised that all her personal information and cards were in the bag that Simon had taken from her; he would find her easily, if he chose to. Why would he want to? A voice in Lola’s head piped up. Lola hovered, torn, and then she turned to see that Simon was approaching her, her tote held in his hands. He swung the bag out towards her and Lola had to catch it with both hands. After a moment Simon spoke.