Page 77 of When I Picture You
“I don’t need an explanation, Renee; the work speaks for itself. Where is the spark? The originality? If I am not a fan of this person, I have no reason to watch.”
“But this is already a lot better than what they hired me for,” Renee said feebly. “They wanted something entertaining about her next album.”
This visibly repulsed Dragan. “Do not insult your vision by comparing it to that of thesebusinessmen. They are not artists. They work withnumbers. You, Renee, are astoryteller. You go deeper. You push. You do not define success on their insipid terms. That is your responsibility to yourself, to the medium—to thetruth.”
This was the most dramatic speech Renee had ever heard over Zoom, and it set nausea pulsing through her stomach. Even with all Lola’s faith in her, Renee was still at square one.
Dragan removed his glasses and glared at Renee through the screen. “As we say, everyone wants to make films, but not everyone can. This is not always a question of talent. It never has been with you, Renee.”
Renee was dumbfounded. What questionwasthere besides talent? You were good enough, or you weren’t. Your education and careerwere just a series of elaborate tests to measure that goodness, and Renee had stalled out at a critical cutoff.
“Talent is helpful, but talent is like potential. Easily wasted. You must becommitted. To be willing to do what needs to be done to serve your art. That commitment is where you have always been weak. Take risks and stand by them!” Dragan sighed heavily. “If this Lola Gray is as good as you say, maybe you can learn something from her.”
***
Lola was on the couch, laptop on her thighs. She was eager to hear what Renee’s thesis advisor thought of her work, but she needed to concentrate. It was less than eight months until the planned release date and her creative director wanted to finalize a direction for visuals, based on some unfinished tracks. The visuals would dictate not just the album cover, but the atmosphere of her music videos, merchandise, the live show aesthetic, even her red carpet looks. The color story he proposed was all jewel tones with burning pops of color. After-dusk indigo with electric red. Ferny green with aquamarine. Scarlet with white. It was a far cry from the pastels and bright colors that themed her past albums.
It was amazing to Lola how fast her work was evolving. The songs she’d written since Michigan felt different. They were still the radio-friendly love songs that Lola Gray was known for, but they were more authentic than the romanticizations of her life she’d written in the past. This album would feel more luscious, like the cherry in a Manhattan, like rumpled bedsheets in the dark. A little messier, a little hungrier, a little more free.
She heard Renee’s footfalls on the stairs and closed her laptop.
“Did he love it?” she called. “Oh no, darling, come here.”
The corners of Renee’s mouth were pulled down, her chin wrinkled and eyebrows drawn. She fell onto the couch, then slumpedto lay her head in Lola’s lap. Lola immediately slid an arm over her stomach. Renee clutched it to her, as Lola’s other hand petted Renee’s messy hair.
“He says I don’t have a vision.” Renee’s voice was weak and gravelly. “The film needs purpose.”
Lola scowled with resentment for this man she’d never met. “Then he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. You have tons of vision. This film is so much better for you being part of it.”
“He’s right, Lo,” Renee groaned. “Dragan didn’t tell me this to tear me down—actually, I think, he called me talented.”
“Youaretalented.”
“Talent doesn’t matter! What matters is tellinga story with a purpose.” Renee pushed herself off Lola’s lap and hunched over with her hands buried in her hair. “The problem isme. Ican’t make it happen.”
Lola’s heart hurt for her. The only thing she could think to do was rub circles on Renee’s back.
“When will I finally accept that I can’t do this?” Renee said with a burst of pained frustration. “I’ve been on the brink of failure for so long. Why can’t I let it go?”
“Because you’re closer to your dream than you’ve ever been. You’re making a feature film—exactly what you’ve always wanted. I know how terrifying it is when you’re waiting for all the pieces to come together.” Lola leaned against her and set a kiss on her shoulder. “I wish there was something I could do. But I have faith that you’ll figure it out, just like you had faith in me. I’m writing some of my best work ever, and you’ve unlocked that in me. If it wasn’t for this film, I don’t know if I would ever have resolved my writer’s block. That’s some kind of purpose, right?”
Renee straightened. “What?”
“Maybe not the kind of purpose Dragan wants, but it means something to me.”
“Your writer’s block,” Renee whispered. “That creative struggle. Maintaining your artistic integrity in a commercial industry. The burden of success—”
“Are you free-associating?”
Renee faced Lola, a light in her eyes. “What ifthat’sthe story we tell? Your team wants a movie about happy little Lola Gray making her happy little album, but the truth is, it’s been hard. You’ve had to fight for it. You’re still struggling to tell your story.”
The rightness of it hummed like a struck tuning fork. The film Renee was proposing would show her as the artist she understood herself to be, not the glossily packaged Lola Gray that fans had always seen. Her team said the film should show the authentic, human side of Lola Gray, but they actually wanted the same old girl. Lola didn’t feel like that girl anymore.
But still, there was an undeniable safety in Lola Gray’s image. The messy parts of Lola’s life didn’t exist for Lola Gray, or for the public. Her writer’s block had been so painful, had gnawed away at Lola’s sense of herself for so long, that she still hadn’t confided in anyone but Renee.
Renee was watching her expectantly. “What do you think?”
“I like it—but it sounds pretty personal.”
