Page 18 of When I Picture You
“Those are rumors.”
“Rumors always come from somewhere.” Lola forced herself to pause. She had to put this in a language Gloriana understood. “The optics will be terrible. It’s only a matter of time before those rumors hit the press and lawyers—orthe police—get involved. Look up his blind items. I don’t want my name mentioned in them.”
“I hear you,” Gloriana allowed. “But we need to start filming ASAP. We’ve committed to a timeline for Streamy—they want to see a full cut three months before the album comes out. That puts us at March.”
“But I’mstill writingthe album.” Technically, true. “It doesn’t have a release date yet.”
“We were planning for June. You know that, Lola.”
“WediscussedJune. I said it felt fast.” Lola fought to keep the anxious pitch from her voice.
“You did express that, but as I recall, you also said you could make it work. So let’s do that, okay? We’re obligated to Streamy now for March. We’re lucky Chess can hop on board. Directors aren’t usually available on such short notice.”
“We need to find someone else who is.”
Gloriana clicked her tongue. “I’m not saying that you’re being difficult, Lola, but others could see this as difficult.”
I’ve earned the right to be a little difficult, Lola wanted to say, but she clenched her teeth. She didn’t want to be that person, who got famous and lost perspective. She was the executive producer. This was her problem to solve.
“What if I can find an alternative?”
“This isn’t the time for fun and games. If we miss this deadline, we’re liable. You could end up owing Streamy a lot of money.”
“Give me until the end of the week,” Lola said. “If I can’t find another director, we’ll go with Chess.”
***
“You want me towhat?” Renee bolted upright in bed and almost dropped her phone. The room was dim, the shades down against the noon sun.
Renee had spent the week since receiving Dragan’s email simultaneously marathoningGilmore Girlson her laptop and playing a match-three game on her phone. She’d completed six seasons and 187 levels so far. She was about to connect four sapphires for another win when she accidentally answered a call from an unknown number. She had not expected Lola on the other end—how did she even get Renee’s number?—asking something completely absurd.
“I’m FaceTiming you,” Lola said.
“No, I’m—” Renee slapped her laptop closed and yanked up the shades just in time to see Lola’s heart-shaped face appear, curtain bangs framing those huge eyes.
“Were you asleep?” Lola asked.
“No! I—I just got back from the gym.” Renee ran a hand through her hair, which only made it stick up at odd angles. “Say again what you’re asking me to do.”
“We’re making a documentary to tie in with my next album. Interviews, some backstage footage, following me around—that kind of thing. The financing is set and Streamy is distributing it, but we need a director.”
“You want suggestions? Look, if you miss me that much, you don’t need a reason to call.”
Lola’s eyes flashed. “I didn’t—no, Renee, I want you to do it.”
“Very funny,” said Renee, who did not actually find it very funny. Her face stiffened into an expression halfway between a dismissive laugh and something alarmingly like fear.
Lola remained serious. “I need a director; you’re a director. You said you went to film school for documentaries.”
“I’mstill infilm school.” For now. “That doesn’t mean I’m a director.”
“Is there some certification process, like you have to get a license to be a real director?” Lola asked. “Or can you just, you know, direct this film?”
Lola was right. On a technical level, Renee could do it—probably, with a life-threatening amount of stress. But she couldn’tactually do it.
Could she?
Renee’s heart lurched. For an instant, she saw it all clearly: the title card showcased on the Streamy app,The Real Lola Gray—Directed by Renee Feldman.Her work and name beamed out to millions of viewers around the world. It was the kind of project that directors worked their whole careers for. But just as quick, acid was eating away at the edges of that vision. Millions of viewers meant millions of critics, reviewers digging into her, plummeting Rotten Tomatoes ratings, her classmates and MFA faculty and everyone on earth judging every frame. She’d barely managed to piece together her term projects before she’d taken leave. There was no way she could handle this.
