Lisa Clark - Livin’ la Vida Lola

LOLA

LOVE

Livin’ la vida Lola

By

Lisa Clark

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty Four

Chapter Twenty Six

Acknowledgements

Copyright

About the Publisher

FADE IN:

Camera flashes pop and crowds cheer as Lola Love, scriptwriter, director and leading lady of the fantastically fabulous and now, Oscar-winning movie, Livin’ la vida Lola! works the raspberry pink, sparkle dust carpet in a customised sequinned vest and tutu combo, sparkly-pink pumps and what have now become her signature pink-tinted shades.

It’s a look that could easily of made her a muse for Andy Warhol. Fact.

She flashes a mega-watt grin at the cameras, holds up the gold statue with fit-to-bursting pride and works a few practised poses for the camera. Lola smiled to herself, thinking how it was good to know that the entire weekends she had spent watching back-to-back re-runs of America’s Next Top Model had not gone to waste.

“Lola! Lola Love! You look awesome!”

The super-hot Americano entertainment TV presenter, Brad Bradston, is calling her name.

“So Lola, how does it feel to be the first ever 14 year old to win an Oscar for writing, directing and starring in your own movie?”

“Brad,” Lola replied, flicking her pink hair and causing a killer breeze with a single blink of her long, fake eyelashes, “it feels blimmin’ brilliant! Can I just say a big, huge thank you to Eva Satine and the Negative Ninas, because without them… well, this would never, ever have been possible!”

Lola turns to the crowd and signals to her pink-jacket wearing girlfriends to come join her on the raspberry pink sparkle-dust carpet. The feisty, fun, fearless and fabulous Pink Ladies walk towards the camera arm in arm, working the carpet like one long fashion-week catwalk.

CUT TO:Evil Eva Satine and her gum smackin’ clique.

Eva is mid-manicure and the Negative Ninas are grooming themselves each other like monkeys in the zoo. Their petite bee-hinds are perched on Eva’s over-sized princess bed and they are all staring at the TV.

At the Oscars.

At Lola Love…

They’re watching Lola on the TV screen.

Open-mouthed.

Eva is shocked and stunned and lets out an ear-piercing, glass shattering wail.

“No WAY!”

FADE OUT.

I heart movies.

My top 5 favourites are:

Breakfast at Tiffany’s–Audrey Hepburn is a goddess-girl. Fact.

Amelie–she’s a total Ooh-la-la magic girl. J’adore.

Ghost World–this film makes me feel just that little bit less alone in the world.

Pretty in Pink–I heart the colour pink. I heart Molly RIngwald. I especially heart her 80s wardrobe, it’s the stuff of retro-girl dreams.

Any movie starring Marilyn Monroe–it would be rude to pick just one, and as I’m not a rude girl, I won’t.

Now, while it maybe true that I have a touch of the drama queen about me, I am absolutely not over-reacting when I say that, right now, if my life were a movie, it would be the straight-to-DVD kind.

It would be called Welcome to Sucksville, there would be absolutely no drama/suspense/romance or even comedy it would lack any amount of drama, the supporting cast would be noticeably absent and there would be nothing, I repeat, nothing that even remotely resembled a plot.

My life is not sweet.

I’m a fourteen-year-old, should-be starlet, with a reflection that rudely disagrees. I mean, seriously, with a name like Lola Love you’d think I’d have an access all areas, VIP insta-pass to the fabulous world of silver screen fabulousness, wouldn’t you? Turns out, not so much. I’m a fourteen-year-old, should-be starlet, with a reflection that rudely disagrees.

Y’see, there are a number of factors standing in the way of my life being a glitter-globe snow-shaker of absolute fabulousity.

These are just a few of the reasons why my name is not currently flashing neon…

1. I don’t have a movie-girl-esque complexion

Starlets have flawless skin.

I do not.

In fact, the only remotely star-like thing about my face right now is that the entire constellation of Orion is very clearly visible on my entire left cheek.

2. I’m awkward looking

Like, really awkward looking Movie stars are picture perfect. I am not. My eyes aren’t symmetrical. No matter how many times my mum tells me I’m making it up, if you look really closely, you can clearly see that my left eye is slightly higher than the right. That’s wrong.

I have freckles that are sometimes visible and sometimes not. They decide.

I have mousy brown hair that never, ever does what it should. It just hangs around my shoulders, all limp and uninterested, like the arm of a super-cute boy who doesn’t actually want to be there.

(Sadly, I am not basing the above statement on my own extensive experience of super-cute boys.

Why is that you ask?

Because I have absolutely no experience with super-cute boys, that’s why.

Yep, you heard me. None. Zilcho. Nothing. Nada. Nuchos.)

Oh wait, there was this one time, it was last September. A super-cute, messy-haired skater boy rode past me in town. He missed his footing and nearly toppled over so, I put my arm out to save him. He didn’t topple, he mumbled something that resembled ‘thanks’, normal life resumed.

Yep, we most deffo shared, what they call in the movies, ‘a moment’.

What’s that?

An ‘accidental, almost arm-brush’ does not a moment make?

That’s rude.

I do however, have A LOT of experience watching movies that include super-cute boys, and FYI, my hair is VERY representative of the uninterested kind.

3. I have a chubby tummy.

I want to live in the olden days, because in the olden days, it was cool to have curves.

For example, Marilyn Monroe, one of my total movie-girl idols, had curves.

Real, woman-like curves.

I also have curves, but apparently, according to the people without curves, curves are no longer cool.

I think this is really rather rude considering I have a bit of a chubby tummy that my mother keeps insisting is puppy fat. It is not. I am just not a stick insect. Fact.

And, as if all that really wasn’t enough for one girl in the world, I’m stuck in Dullsville, the wrong side of Happytown, on my own.

My BFF Angel has been totally kidnapped by her parentals and is on vacay in Europe. Apparently, it’s not enough that my best bud in the entire world is packed off to a super-posh boarding school during term-time, it seems her parentals think it’s more than do-able to kidnap take her away for the entire summer holidays too.

Rude.

And if all that wasn’t bad enough, my aunt Tallullah–uber glam, goddess-like lady, the one person who actually gets me, as in really, really gets me–has gone and moved to my most favourite place in all of the world.