Page 68 of When I Picture You
“That’s my favorite song.” Renee kissed her. “It’s my favorite song in the history of songs.”
They left the dishes on the deck for the birds to pick at.
THEY SPENT THErest of the day snuggled on the couch under blankets and took turns picking old DVDs from the collection:Notting Hill, which Lola could recite lines from, andWild Things, which Renee said was “not supposed to be here.” The movies didn’t hold their attention. Once Lola was in Renee’s lap, it was a guarantee that later, they’d spend ten minutes searching for the last scene they remembered.
Renee refused to lift Lola’s ban from the kitchen. She was assigned drinks duty instead, so at night they drank the two cocktails Lola could make: Manhattans and chilled white wine. She simply let herself enjoy watching Renee move around the kitchen, and how her forearms rippled as she handled a knife or flicked her wrist to toss ingredients in a pan.
Afterward, Lola queued up songs that she loved over the speaker. She tried very hard to be nonchalant about Renee’s opinion of them, but it was like introducing old friends you desperately wanted to get along. Renee asked Lola what she liked about each. Lola would begin explaining the structure of the bridge or semantic fields ofthe lyrics, but always ended up yelping, “It’s the greatest love song of all time!”
“They can’t all be the greatest love song of all time,” Renee protested.
“Why not?” Lola asked, pulling her in for a kiss.
THE NEXT DAY, they took the stairs down to the beach and walked the damp, windblown shoreline. The sky was spotted with clouds that split the day between sharp light and shadow. Lola hadn’t bothered to put her contacts in, or any makeup on, and her hair was hastily pulled back. Before they left, Renee had dug out an old jacket for her. It crinkled whenever she moved, and the sleeves hung past her hands, but Renee insisted that the wool coat she’d brought was too fashionable for northern Michigan.
Lola’s hand was on the door when Renee said, “Maybe I’ll take my camera—I brought my old one. Not for the film,” she added. “For me. For us.”
Down at the beach, Renee filmed the wind whipping Lola’s hair around her face, and their conversations about nothing in particular, and how the reflection of the sun on the water made Lola squint. Lola scoured the ground for leopard-spotted Petoskey stones, and though she didn’t find any, she found a dozen other special shells or rocks. Each time she let out a gleeful little cackle, then rinsed her new treasure in the lake and showed it to Renee.
Renee zoomed in on a red stone in Lola’s palm that she declared was definitely an agate.
“How do you know what an agate is?” she asked.
“I’ve worked with several crystal dealers,” Lola answered seriously. “Why are you laughing?”
But Renee couldn’t stop giggling even after Lola added the definite agate to her pocket collection.
Lola asked, “Can I hold the camera?”
Renee handed it over, then stood behind Lola, stooping a little so their eyes were level. “Hold it here,” she said, maneuvering Lola’s arms, then her fingers. “That’s the zoom. The autofocus is on—”
“Can I hold it like this?” Lola asked. She turned the camera around in her hands, so it pointed toward them. In the eye of the lens, they could see the reflection of their faces, Renee’s nestled over Lola’s shoulder. A lock of hair escaped from Lola’s ponytail and caught on the knit of Renee’s beanie.
Renee slid her arms around Lola’s waist. “You can hold it like that.”
“Look at us,” Lola said, grinning at the image of them.
Lola kissed Renee’s cheek, and watched her smile grow.
BACK AT THEhouse, Renee fiddled with the camera.
“You can’t put that thing down,” Lola said.
“I like filming you.”
“You likefilming. That’s the awful thing about being an artist. You can’t stop doing it.”
“Then play something for me.” Renee cocked her head toward Dave’s guitar.
Lola grabbed it and stroked her thumb over the strings. “You are my sunshine …”
“Not that—what was the song you were playing before? I liked that.”
“That wasn’t a song, it was nothing. I don’t know if I even remember it.”
But her fingers found the melody again, as Renee began to film.
LOLA COULD NOTget enough of Renee. She was obsessed with her body: her breasts, full enough to overflow Lola’s hands, her ass cheeks peeking out from the bottom of the shorts she wore in themorning, the dimples on her thighs and the dark hair between her legs. She was robust and solid and alive to Lola’s touch. Lola felt like she’d never tire of hearing Renee draw out the sound of her name, long and slow, as she came.
