Page 3 of Hotter in the Hamptons

“Is there anything I can do? To help rehabilitate your image?”

Lola sighed. “I wish.”

“I still maintain it wasn’t a big deal. And I was there.”

“I know.”

The day her life fell apart, Lola had been on Instagram live while she and Ryan tried on clothes at a trendy new boutique in Nolita. Salesgirls were plying them with glass after glass of chilled champagne until the clothes and the bubbles and the smell of her perfume left her smiling and dizzy. Lola had connected her iPhone to the speakers and was playing her favorite early-2000s pop playlist while clothes, bags, and shoes piled up around them. Everything she and Ryan did together felt like a movie montage—a whole party broken into dazzling still images and open-mouthed laughs—and this had been no exception.

As Lola swirled back to the changing room in a particularly flowy maxi dress, Ryan had handed her a serious-looking olive-green pantsuit. It was not her usual style at all. She tended to lean boho, kind of a 1970s-rock-star vibe; a Zillennial Daisy Jones, as her followers often pointed out. But Ryan had insisted. “You’re legally obligated to try on the most expensive thing in here,” and she found that idea so funny, she couldn’t resist. She was also more than a little buzzed.

She came out of the dressing room in the suit, her body swallowed by the aggressive structure of the straight-leg trousers and oversized blazer.

“Oh, Lola,” Ryan gasped, putting his champagne down. “Mother isreallymothering.” He held the phone pointed at her so her fans could see. Ryan was always pushing her to be edgier in her fashion decisions;sometimes she trusted him, and other times she wasn’t sure if he was just messing with her for a laugh.

“Really?” She turned around, doubtful, looking at her ass over her shoulder. It was hidden beneath the blazer—a shame, given it was usually the star of the show.

“Lola no likes?” he asked.

The words that ruined everything left her mouth before she even gave them a second thought: “It’s just very lesbian chic, I think.”

From the look on Ryan’s face—panic—she instantly knew she’d messed up.

She tried to correct: “Not that that would be a bad thing! I just feel like, this suit? It’s, like, very menswear inspired. Which is great. It’s just not really me. It’s almost giving Ellen.”

“Notit’s almost giving Ellen,” Ryan whispered, equal parts amused and horrified. “Girl, we’re still live.”

“No, wait, I love when people are lesbian chic. It’s such a good look,” Lola said, becoming flustered and starting to sweat, the suit all of a sudden feeling heavy and hot, claustrophobic. “It’s literallychic.Lesbianchic.It’s just notmy look.” She wondered how many times she was going to say the words “lesbian chic” before someone stopped her.

She hated that she couldn’t see the comments as they rolled in, but she already knew in her heart what they would say.

“I loveallgay people! I’m here with Ryan! My best friend! Who is gay!”

Ryan groaned, laughing. “Lola.” He slid to the floor.

“Okay, that’s it for now! See you guys later!” She’d grabbed the phone and ended the livestream. “Shit.”

“Oh my god,” Ryan said, nearly hyperventilating with nervous laughter.

“Will you tell me what they’re saying?” She whispered, giving him back her phone.

“Gird your loins,” he sighed.

She held her hands over her face.

“Okay, I’m in your DMs. Here we go.Why do you hate lesbians? Why are you so homophobic?Yikes, y’all. Everyone needs to calm the fuck down. I’m not reading you all of these. Sorry. Oh, wait, here’s a good one: it says,Lola I WISH you were a lesbian!And this one says,Show me your feet.See? Not all bad.”

Her hands still over her face, Lola said, “Is lesbian chic an offensive phrase?”

“Not objectively, my dear, but we live in strange times,” Ryan said.

Over the course of the next day, Lola lost twenty thousand followers.

The comments on her posts devolved into heated arguments over who is allowed to say what.

The boutique got in on it too, captioning a photo of a model in the suitIT’S JUST VERY LESBIAN CHIC.It got around seventy thousand likes, while the boutique itself only had twelve thousand followers.

The top pinned comment on the post wasNot it’s almost giving Ellen!

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