Page 17 of When I Picture You
made me want to be bolder
Lola could feel it coming together—snapshots of moments, the beginning of a chord progression.
Something aboutyour soft skin, legs tangled in the sheets—
No, that was obviously feminine: a man’s legs didn’t tangle in the sheets.
She edited it towe’re tangled in the sheets.
A chill washed over Lola.
It didn’t matter how she changed it: everyone would say it was about Ava.
Lola Gray lyrics were famously diaristic, the kind of songs that made listeners feel like confidants. Lo-Lites spent hours picking apart her words, trying to connect them to Lola’s life. Lola had enjoyed it once as a special bond with her fans. But the breakup with Ava changed things. She couldn’t bear the thought of her fans plundering her lyrics for evidence of her secret love, her secret heartbreak. Already, in the two songs she’d released about Ava, they’d been alarmingly good at finding it.
Lola deleted the line. The vision of the song crumbled.
Lola rubbed her eyes. She hadn’t realized that writer’s block felt like a physical block: any way she turned, her mind hit another dead end.
She hadn’t realized because she’d never had writer’s block before.
Lola didn’t have jaw-dropping vocal range. She couldn’t dance her way out of a wet paper bag. She was pretty, but sex appeal wasn’t her major selling point. An exec had once told her that she had a likable sweetness, but wasn’t “100% charismatic,” like his other top artists were.
What Lola had wassongwriting, a gift for finding the right words and pairing them with a melody that kept them dancing in your head for days.
At least, that was what sheusedto have.
She hadn’t finished a song in months.
In more than a year.
An incoming call from Gloriana saved her from staring at the empty space she knew she’d never fill with a song.
“Good news! We’ve got a director ready to go and we just needyour sign-off. Once that’s done, things will start moving quickly, since we’re already behind.”
Lola suppressed a groan. She couldn’t even remember why finding a director had taken so long.
It was grossly unfair that ignoring the documentary couldn’t stop it from happening, especially given that Lola was not just the star, but had formed a production company, on her team’s recommendation, for this project. She and Gloriana were executive producers, which meant they handled big-picture things like securing a director, while a producer named Micah ran the day-to-day. Streamy was already signed on to distribute the finished product to its 75 million subscribers and had posted most of the film’s budget.
“Great,” Lola said. “Who is it?”
“Chess Waterston.”
The seat belt tightened against Lola’s chest as she lurched forward. “Chess Waterston?No. Absolutely not.”
“Lola—”
“I’m not working with Chess Waterston.”
“He did the film about Tatiana Jones that got tons of eyeballs.Superviral.”
“Because it was all about rehab and her second marriage. It barely mentioned her music.” Lola squeezed her eyes shut.
“If this is about keeping private things private, do not worry. We’ll get tons of days with Nash on the calendar. Chess will never know. It will be a totally safe space.”
Now Lola’s eyes flew open in a burst of frustration. Gloriana knew she was bisexual. After all, Gloriana kept track of the NDAs. She had managed things with Ava, kept the label off her back, and—in the wake of the secret breakup—found Lola the perfect PR boyfriend. Currently she and Nash Walker were a year into a love affair manufactured to grab headlines. The issue wasn’t whether Lola’s sexualitywas off-limits for the documentary; Gloriana knew it was off-limits everywhere.
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Lola said. “Haven’t you heard the rumors about him?”
