Page 113 of When I Picture You
After Lola’s car pulled away from the house, Renee allowed herself a few hours of sulking, which felt terribly romantic. She’d never been in the position to miss the woman she loved before. She flung herself onto the bed, to smell Lola’s scent on the sheets, then jerkedoff and fell asleep. The next day was Thanksgiving. It wasn’t a holiday Renee cared much for, but she picked up some prepared food at Whole Foods for later and called her mom. Then she wandered into her office. If she was missing Lola anyway, she might as well try to go through some of the hundreds of hours of footage of her.
For once, work came easily. She started by building out an architecture for the plot. It would begin with Lola’s writer’s block, the sinister sense that she was on a career precipice that only she could see, then flash back to her childhood in Michigan—how Lola realized she was queer and the truth about the inspiration forSeventeen Candles.Then they’d jump to Lola’s big break onYou’re Next!
She’d skim Lola’s relationship with Kyte, to put the spotlight on how Lola had been pressured to stay in the closet and how it had affected her music. That meant spending a lot of time on the relationship with Ava: the oppressive secrecy, the feverish scrutiny from the LavaTruthers, the fear that dating a woman would destroy Lola’s image. Then, the breakup, the canceled album, the arranged relationship with Nash. They would, of course, protect Nash’s sexuality; he got enough out of dating Lola that it wouldn’t need additional explanation. That story alone was nearly enough to make the film work—Renee had never seen a doc that pulled back the curtain on PR relationships.
Renee worked with manic intensity. Her only breaks were texting sessions with Lola. By the end of that first day, she had the core narrative structure and a mile-long to-do list. The next day, Renee played through the footage she’d use for a frame narrative: the writing and production of “Starcrossed.” The final segment would hopefully be Lola playing the song live for the first time. The next day, she reviewed the interview footage she’d collected: Claudia, Gloriana, Nash, Jason St. Jude, and Ackerlund, among others. She raced through them atdouble speed, recording timestamps for anything salvageable. Her inventory was thin. The questions Micah had asked weren’t exactly penetrating. She’d prioritize re-interviewing everyone important herself, and talk to everyone Micah had missed: Henry, Lola’s head of security, and Cassidy—who saw more than she ever let on—and Tatiana Jones. And of course, they set aside several days for Lola to tell her story in front of the camera.
But the more Renee chewed the concept over, the more she couldn’t ignore the other woman at the heart of it all: Ava Andreesen.
Renee devoted several uninterrupted hours to reading interviews with Ava, watching videos of Ava, looking at pictures of Ava until her eyeballs felt like hard-boiled eggs and her stomach roiled with bile and Red Bull.
As much as she resented this woman and the sexy gap in her teeth and the neat palindrome of her name, Renee needed to think like a filmmaker. Ava was central to the story. She was the woman Lola fell head over heels for, the woman she’d put it all on the line for. Ava had sucked Lola dry and broken her heart, plummeting her into a creative drought that nearly devastated her career. Viewers would want to hear from Ava herself.
Renee wasn’t sure if Ava would want to expose a relationship they had tried so hard to hide. But on the other hand, would Ava even care? Ava had come out on live TV, casually mentioning her bisexuality while giving red carpet fashion commentary for the Emmys. From Renee’s short interaction with Ava at the premiere, she expected Ava would seize any opportunity to put herself in the spotlight. She’d make herself the story’s villain with ease, and everyone, not just the LavaTruthers, would understand the pain she’d caused Lola.
By now, it was well after midnight. Renee had consumed an unconscionable amount of caffeine and, over the last three hours, abottle of rosé. She’d forgotten this feeling, how working could be so exhilarating, her brain energized even when her body was exhausted. She stood and stretched, a little dizzy. She wanted to talk to Lola about Ava—but they’d talked a few hours ago, when her day was starting in Fiji. It was the day of the party, and Lola would be away from her phone. Renee scrolled to the picture Lola had sent her that morning—or was it Lola’s night? Renee wasn’t sure—a rumpled selfie from the hotel bed, the sheet pulled down to show her gorgeous tits. She had a love bite on the underside of one breast. Lola had insisted on it.
So I can remember you.
Like you’d ever forget me.
Renee sucked in a breath through her teeth.
She wanted this film to be perfect for Lola, to tell her whole story. The parts about Ava would be upsetting for Lola, but it was Renee’s responsibility, as a director, to manage that. Lola didn’t have to be involved in the interview at all.
Renee stripped and crawled into Lola’s bed, exhausted. Her eyelids heavy, she searched for Ava’s Instagram page. A DM wasn’t the most formal way to set up an interview, but surely it would take weeks of back and forth before Ava got in front of the camera—if she even answered Renee’s message at all.
But the next day, when Renee woke and checked her phone, Ava had replied.
I thought you’d never ask.
31
Renee had expected that Ava would direct her to an assistant who’d send her jumping through hoops: advanced review of the interview questions, scheduling hell, an interview with one of Ava’s people hovering nearby to cut it off if things got too real.
She had not predicted she’d be parked outside Ava’s home on a Venice Beach canal that same afternoon.
She should have told Lola. Renee knew that. But Lola was on the other side of the world, where it was now the dead of night, and things had moved so fast. Ava had insisted that the interview happen that day: she was about to leave for London for two months.
Renee had almost declined. Two months wasn’t forever—though it was the bulk of the weeks before Streamy’s deadline—and London wasn’t inaccessible. But the timing feltright. Renee would be underprepared, but so would Ava. It would be real, authentic. Renee scrambled to pull together her questions, check all the gear, make sure her batteries were charged, and get gas so she could sit in traffic out to Venice.
Ava answered the door in a fiery orange kimono with sleeves that swept the ground. Underneath, she wore a white bralette and tiny jean shorts, with a pair of leather ankle boots. Her blonde hair was tousled in the style of Jane Birkin and, aside from her smudgy eyeliner, her skin looked luminous. As she waved Renee into the house,the rings she wore on every finger glinted with the sparkle of real diamonds. Not that Renee had evertrulywondered what had attracted Lola to Ava, but five seconds into their meeting it was excruciatingly obvious: Ava was really fucking hot. Beside her, Renee felt trollish.
“Shoes off, please,” Ava said in the entryway.
Renee struggled to balance her backpack and camera bag as she took an embarrassingly long time to wrangle off her Docs. It was hard not to see Ava’s long, smooth legs, which seemed to go on forever between the boots she had not removed and the hem of her shorts.
While Renee was down there—the seconds stretched like taffy, her heel caught—she said, “Thanks for making time.”
Ava watched her through her long eyelashes, her arms folded as she leaned against the wall. When she spoke, she revealed the signature gap in her front teeth. “It’s no trouble. I’ve been hoping you’d get in touch.”
At Ava’s insistence, they’d film in her studio. She’d taken up painting, Ava explained, and was about to have her first show. Ava perched on a wooden stool, all elbows and angles. Her aloof, sky-blue eyes tracked Renee setting up the camera.
“We’re rolling,” Renee said. “Do you want a mirror check?”
Ava waved this off. “Let’s get started. I’m really looking forward to this. No one knows Lola Gray better than I do.”
Renee’s eyebrow quirked at that. “Great. Can you explain how you know her?”
