High Heels & Pink Glitter (the heavily edited version)

Kelly's new fella

Nate's invite took Kelly aback, and she found herself gaping at him as everyone around them clapped wildly. Behind them, people got up and seats were cleared away. The music resumed, and tables were set out at the sides.

"Er..."

"On me, obviously," he added hastily. "I just thought that—"

But whatever he was going to say was interrupted by Leon and Martin. "You don't mind if we leave you with Nate?" Leon didn't look in the least bit guilty. "It's just that Martin's spotted Karim Ali and we're huge fans."

Ali was a young designer who concentrated on the menswear market, and flaunted his gay credentials, despite serious familial and cultural disapproval. She sent them off with her blessing and was about to agree to Nate's offer when Avril, having finished talking with the much more important people, re-joined them.

"Hey. There's a VIP room upstairs. Shall we?"

Nate darted Kelly a look she couldn't interpret, but it seemed as if the meal offer had just been rescinded, and she stood up, ready to follow Avril.

Security guards hovering, the star led the two of them upstairs to a small function room, its lights dimmed and the sound only a low buzz of conversation. The world-famous Scottish DJ was in the room surrounded by acolytes.

Avril collapsed into one of the sofas at the far end, patting the seat beside her. Nate sat down. She rested her hand on his arm and her head tilted against his shoulder. It looked very proprietorial. The actions of someone with a claim on another person.

There were rumours that Avril Taylor and Matt Rogham were about to split. Didn't famous people frequently end up in relationships with their staff? She shook herself. As if Nate was ever interested in her anyway. The meal offer was born of guilt after he'd ditched her the other day.

Nate seemed to be trying to catch her eye, but she deliberately looked away, determined not to let him guess she might be disappointed.

"Kelly! Sit beside me! I'd like to hear more about your PR stuff." Avril's questions interrupted her ruminations, and she sat down on the other side of her, wincing as she felt the sofa sag under her weight and tip Avril over, so she fell against her side.

"I was wondering if you would interview me?" Avril asked, straightening up and edging away. "I could use some positive publicity. There's the series to promote, plus I have some stuff going on. It would be handy if there was a nice interview about me in circulation."

According to industry gossip, Avril only did interviews if she specified who interviewed her, and she never went for staff writers. Kelly would appeal to her because she knew Kelly would give her ultimate editorial control over the interview, which would mean it would be read by Avril and her PR team before it appeared in any paper, magazine or online site.

Most journalists would turn their noses up at such scrutiny, but Kelly didn't mind. After working in PR for so long, ensuring clients had the final say-so felt far more comfortable. If the client signed off the copy, they were only to blame if a sentence or quote was later misconstrued. And Avril's celebrity was such that any newspaper or magazine wouldn't care about who interviewed her.

"I'll probably have to ask you the kid question," Kelly said. Best to be up front about that. While those newspapers and magazines might not be fussy about the interviewer, they would insist on the kid question.

The one that every female star over the age of 30 (and sometimes younger) was asked. "Do you want kids", with a subtext, and what are you doing about getting them? Subtext number two was that as a woman, you were not worth anything unless you procreated.