Read Online To the Devil - a Diva! by Paul Magrs - Free Book Online

watching the whole drama unfold. Hey, this was good. A hissy fit at half ten in the morning. Dennis felt privy to something not many people in this life got to see. But this was in the nature of his job. And what a fantastic job. His steely grey eyes flicked casually around Lance’s kitchen walls – noting the posters, the playbills, all the glorious trappings. A framed signed photo of Lance standing with Barbara Windsor at what looked like a garden party at Buckingham Palace. A piccie of Lance, head-bowed, meeting the Queen Mother backstage at the Royal Variety. This was real stardom. When you’re a milkman, Dennis was thinking, that’s how you see the real stuff. Stuff like this: everything that lies behind the bland facades of these rooftop pads.
    He decided to rally his pal. ‘Oh, come on, Lance. It’s not all bad. You’ve said yourself that the show’s going down the pan. No one’s watching anymore. Maybe she’ll help it come back to life …’
    Lance was obviously taking it hard. Pride, Dennis thought. Lance was the star of the show. Now they were bringing in a lesbian vampire as a crutch. That must sting.
    Lance turned on him snarling. ‘Who asked you? You’rethe milkman, for fuck’s sake. What do you know?’
    Dennis gave a leisurely shrug. ‘I know what I like on the telly. And as a punter, as a member of your audience, what I say is more important than what you do. And your show’s been looking a bit lacklustre just lately. Yeah, it was shocking when it first started … but it’s not moved on really, has it? Maybe Karla Sorenson’s just what it needs to perk it up. I’ll start watching again when she comes on …’ He pulled the paper round to look at her publicity shots again. ‘I wouldn’t mind getting a closer look at those bazoomas …’
    Lance cursed and turned to the coffee pot. It was brimming now, bubbling away, and even it was looking smug to Lance this morning. So Dennis has stopped watching the show, has he? Oh, there was no hope left. ‘You don’t know anything about it.’
    â€˜About what?’
    Lance jabbed his finger. ‘About that woman. About what she’s done. What she is responsible for …’
    Dennis’s eyes widened. ‘You know her?’
    Lance tutted. ‘I’m a celebrity. Of course I know her. I know everyone.’
    Dennis nodded. Of course. Actually, now he looked more closely, Lance did seem as if he’d had an actual shock that went beyond professional pride and irk. He looked really horrified at this news about Ms Sorenson joining the cast of his show. Dennis had just thought it a laugh, but Lance was somehow taking it personally.
    â€˜I’m sorry then, Lance …’
    â€˜Mr Randall, to you.’
    â€˜I’m sorry for upsetting you,’ said Dennis glumly. ‘I neverrealised it was the kind of news that needed breaking gently. I’d have thought you’d be interested and pleased …’
    Lance looked at him closely, alert for satire of any kind. But the milkman was hanging his head as he sat on that stool: the picture of contrition.
    â€˜Well,’ said Lance. ‘Never mind.’ He turned, slightly abashed, to his portable telly, and turned up the sound. The folk on the sofa were saying that later in the show they’d be going over cervical smears.
    Lance busied himself making coffee in his hand-thrown bowls. Special treat for Dennis. He’d trust him not to chip it. Full fat milk, though. What had he been thinking of? That’d put the kybosh on Lance’s dietary regime. And he had volume two of his thigh and bum video to shoot in the next month.
    He sighed, glugged in the gold top, and turned to hand the milkman his fresh, foamy coffee.
    Dennis was still looking down at himself. Still abject and ashamed, Lance thought at first. Perched there on his Alessi stool. Well, good. So he should