Page 25 of When I Picture You
Almost.
She had spent the previous night sleepless, too hot, and snarled in the sheets of her hotel bed, thinking of all the reasons she should back out before she totally humiliated herself.
She wasn’t qualified to directanything, let alone a feature-length film, a monthslong shoot, under the eye of Lola’s team—who clearly didn’t want her here, since they’d assigned Micah to babysit her. Renee nearly longed for the toxic atmosphere of her MFA program. At least there, like a toddler tripping over her own feet, she didn’t have very far to fall before hitting the ground. Here, she risked plummeting from much greater heights.
In the dim hotel room, Renee had mentally composed a dozen panicked emails to Dragan, and actually looked up the deadline to withdraw for a tuition refund. She’d begun accepting that when Kadijah called her Walk Away Renee, it would no longer refer to her abysmal dating record. It probably wasn’t too late to get her job back at Prince’s, if she begged. She had steeled herself for the look on her mother’s face: disappointed, not surprised.
But then, as the sun was lightening the sky, Renee thought about Lola.
Or more accurately, thought about Lolaagain.This time, it was an image of her that wouldn’t leave Renee’s mind—and not the image of Lola’s mouth falling open as Renee’s lips tightened over her nipple, which Renee barely thought about anymore. No, it was of Lola sitting in that production meeting like a silent piece of set dressing, while the real players talked around her,abouther. But shehadput her foot down about working with Chess Waterston.
Lola said she didn’t know what she wanted out of a film about her life. What Renee heard was an unspokenyet. She was putting her story in Renee’s hands until she figured out how she wanted it told.
When it came down to it, Lola needed her.
That felt big. It felt important.
Now, the gate swung open and Renee drove up to a generous, Spanish-style home in white stucco with a terra-cotta roof. A burbling fountain stood in the middle of the circular drive, ringed with mature palm trees. Renee whistled through her teeth. Lola had come a long way from Fellows. The crew had congregated near the craft services van serving coffee, surrounded by hard-sided cases of gear.
Micah loped over to meet Renee as she parked. His tan glowed in the bright morning sun, a fitted chambray shirt hinting at the taut physique beneath. He looked fresh in a way that felt personally offensive to Renee, who felt as fresh as the crumpled wrapper of a fast-food breakfast sandwich. She frowned down at her dingy black polo. She’d chosen it after agonizing over whether to wear a normal T-shirt or something nicer to signal she wasn’t just another crew member. She had settled on the worst possible compromise.
“There she is, our woman in charge!” Micah said. “Let me introduce you.”
Renee met the sound operator and his assistant, the gaffer andbest boy, an additional camera operator, two production assistants, a makeup artist and her assistant, a hairstylist, a still photographer for behind-the-scenes shots, and Micah’s assistant. Renee’s mouth went dry. Outside of professional shoots where she’d been a production assistant, the largest crew Renee had worked with was three people. Once.
After Renee greeted everyone, she pulled Micah aside as she poured herself a much-needed coffee. The acidic first sip turned her stomach. She chased it with another swallow.
“Big crew,” she observed.
“It’s a big production.”
“Sure, but we’re not going to be able to get thatauthenticfeeling with twenty-five people behind the camera. Do we really needtwomakeup artists?”
Micah was looking at her like she’d proposed they shoot the film on first-gen iPhones. “We want everyone looking their best.”
Renee sighed. “Then let’s get one of them inside with Lola.”
“No, no, Lola’s in hair and makeup with her own people,” Micah said as his phone rang. “Check in later!” he mouthed, then clapped Renee on the shoulder—at the exact moment she’d raised her cup for a sip. The black coffee sloshed straight down the front of her polo. Cursing, she pulled the soaked fabric away from her body. At least the coffee wasn’t hot enough to burn. Micah, already mid-conversation, hadn’t even noticed what he’d done. Renee grabbed a stack of paper napkins and began to rub at the stain. The napkins instantly disintegrated, leaving wet white nubbins clinging to the black material.
“You gotta blot, not rub,” someone said.
Renee looked up. This was Alejandro, the sound operator. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, with light brown skin and a mop of black curls under a Dodgers cap.
“It’s fine,” Renee huffed. “This shirt isn’t exactly a family heirloom.”
Although Renee had to admit that the first day of shooting, when they were filming with Lola’s stylist, manager, and publicist as they chose a look for the premiere of Lola’s fake boyfriend’s blockbuster, was not an ideal time to be wearing napkin crumbles.
An anxious strawberry blonde, flicking at the screen of an iPad, approached Renee.
“Can I show you where you’ll be filming?” she asked.
“That would be great. Remind me, you’re …”
“Cassidy. Lola’s assistant,” she said.
Cassidy led Renee through a gigantic front door that looked hewn from a hundred-year-old oak and a marble entryway, to a spacious sitting room with a fireplace and huge cream-colored couches.
“Jason St. Jude will be here in an hour, and Gloriana and Veronika will be here in thirty,” Cassidy said.
