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Tim has hired a team of security guards, who wait for each of us to arrive. Naturally, when they see a queue of reporters swarming our car, they run outside, shouting.
    "OY! Get away from them! Now!"
    "We have the right to get Mrs. Hadley's...OW! Just you wait! I'll call the police and have you arrested...gerroff me! Now! OW!"
    The security guards grab each reporter and, twisting arms behind backs, force them away from our car. Each reporter is quick-marched out through the gate and pushed heartily down the street, allowing Marcus to get Lizzie and me into the studio.
    Inside, it's not much better. Tim, Linny and Laslow are sitting in a semicircle, each holding a copy of the tabloid with that damned story.
    "Em, you need to know what this nut is saying so you're prepared. It's not going down," Tim says quietly.
    I take the paper that he hands to me and I read.
    "...Loved him since secondary school...See those hot, hard muscles and his steamy, sexy green eyes that radiate hot sex...tracked him down late last year..."
    "I've really read enough. This only proves..."
    "No, Em. You need to read the whole, sick, sad accounting. Marcus, you too."
    Marcus reluctantly takes a copy of the rag from his brother and begins reading.
    "...Was at the London concert before Christmas and I bumped into him, quite by chance. He smiled gently at me, and said, 'I remember you. You're Cara!'
    "I smiled tremblingly and nodded shyly. 'Yeah, I am. Then, I turned, as if looking for my good friend. I wanted him to see my trim, new body - you see, I had lost several stone and I wanted him to admire the new, smaller Cara.
    "I felt Marcus' eyes running up and down my body. I gave him a shy glance and saw the heat in his gaze. He whispered to me, 'My wife still has to perform another set after the intermission. Let's go this way...' He took me to a small closet-like room and stripped down. I saw his cock standing stiff and I knew he wanted me. Seeing his wanting made me want him, too, so I stripped my clothing off and he admired by body art. He gently lifted me to a work table and had his way with me. His cock was hard as it drove deeper into my loin. Much like a bus would drive into a bus station."
    I drop the rag as if it carries bubonic plague bacterium. I want to vomit, so I lean over and place my head between my legs, breathing deeply. A few seconds later, I hear Marcus drop his copy of the rag, then hear him run to the loo, where he slams and locks the door. Next, we all hear the unmistakable sounds of my husband retching as he loses his breakfast.
    "Guys, I know there's not a lot we can control in this whole nasty, sorry mess, but I'm sure we can control what comes out of this whack job. I'm going to talk to the barrister prosecuting her and Melanie and show her this tripe." I shudder as I pick up my copy of the rag in between my thumb and fingertip. Singlehandedly, she's making my poor husband and me look like witless losers."
    "Okay, then, after we have a shortened practice, you and Marcus go talk to the barrister. Before you go, though, I'm calling in reinforcements. The reporters out there aren't going away any time soon - not after this," Tim says.
    Marcus comes out, looking sweaty, pale and shaky.
    "Lord, that's...nasty." He gags again and I grab the rag, pulling it out of his vision.
    "Marcus, we're shortening practice. You and I are going to talk to the magistrate's barrister so we can get this kind of shit stopped. Cara's a loon," I say. I stand up and wrap my arms around my husband, who responds by wrapping his arms tightly around me.
    After several minutes, he's able to begin writing with Lizzie close by him. Now that we have security guards at each entrance, we all feel safer.
    Our short practice is intense and productive - because we don't have very much time, we know we have to work hard in the hours, days and weeks we have remaining until our tour begins.
    It's shortly after noon when we leave practice. On a break, Tim spoke to the