Tony stood outside the club on the red carpet, welcoming the hierarchy of the police and their wives, and shaking their hands. He was smiling and being free with his compliments about how beautiful the wives looked, even though some were in their sixties, and possibly older. He was full of his usual charm. It was then that the journalists started to shout to him.

‘What’s happened to your hair, Tony?’

‘What’s with the blue rinse, Tony?’

They were all shouting to him and taking photos. Lights from the cameras were flashing from either side of him.

He had thought the photographers would notice – they always scrutinised him closely, and the lights from their cameras also helped show off the faint blue tint. It was time for him to put on his cheeky smile and front it out.

He walked over to a few of the journalists, and started to smile and laugh. He ran his hand through his hair and nodded at them. ‘Boys,’ he shouted to the paparazzi, ‘take a tip from me. Never turn your back on a woman scorned.’ Now he had got their interest, he waited. He was determined to pay Denise back for her trickery and the only way to do it was by letting the newspapers know what she had done. He wasn’t going to give her name, but they all knew who he had been involved with lately, and it didn’t take much adding up.

The newspapers either loved or hated him; one day he was that gangland boss, another he was Tony Lambrianu, club owner and playboy. Tonight, he was the latter, and he could use that to his advantage.

‘Come on, Tony,’ someone shouted, ‘tell us what happened.’

‘Well, fellas, where do I start? Never get on the phone and make a date with a woman when a leading lady of the theatre is still in your house having her early morning shower, supposedly out of earshot.’ He laughed and waited. The journalists were writing as quickly as possible. They were all looking at each other and smirking; this was a great story. Even though Tony had not mentioned Denise by name, they all knew who the ‘leading lady of the theatre’ was.

Tony felt now was the time to do his own kiss and tell story. Denise would squirm when she read it. This will make the public talk about her, all right, he thought, but they won’t be talking about her acting skills.

‘Having dumped her, fellas, after a boring night, she decided to put ink in the showerhead. As you can see, I didn’t notice till after my shower.’ He burst out laughing and ran his hands through his hair again. He enjoyed telling the press that he had already dumped her; he knew this would make her look bitter and spiteful. Her reviews for this evening’s performance would contain all of this, he was sure of it.

‘Who did you dump her for, Tony? Anyone we know?’ Again, they were shouting to him. They wanted to know who had already replaced Denise.