Page 32 of When I Picture You
Lola laughed—her real laugh—at something her friend said, then she raised a hand to one shoulder, right where Renee had beenmassaging. It must have been the lighting, but Renee thought she saw her blush.
IN HER HOTELroom that night, Renee’s eyeballs were withering like old grapes as she entered hour three of reviewing the dailies on her computer. Long shoot days could generate a dozen hours of footage that might be distilled into a minute-long clip in the final cut of the film. Staying on top of the dailies was essential. It also meant that even after they wrapped each day, Renee spent hours looking at Lola.
Renee played back the bit where she’d rubbed Lola’s shoulders. She hadn’t meant to film it, but she’d forgotten to cut. She should delete it—it wasnotmaking the film—but then she watched Lola’s eyes slip closed, the subtle way she’d leaned into Renee. Her cursor hovered over the trash icon, then drifted back to play. It was a bad idea to deleteanyfootage at this point, wasn’t it? You never knew what you’d need. She made a copy of the clip, moved it onto her personal hard drive, and deleted it from the files she archived on the production company’s server. Then she set all the files to backup, flopped down on the bed, settled her headphones over her ears, and played Lola’s first album.
It was surreal now to hear Lola’s voice without Lola herself there. Since this job tied Renee’s art to Lola’s, Renee had been listening to Lola’s music whenever she needed to get into Lola’s head—in other words, every day.
Renee had never truly listened to Lola’s songs. As a teenager, she’d liked music with screaming in it, because she’d always felt like screaming herself. Pop was too upbeat, too aggressively straight. Where were the songs about crying in your room after coming out to your mom went worse than you’d expected, or about the moment you realized your dad really wasn’t coming home again? Pop musicwas meant to be for everybody, but it made Renee feel like an afterthought.
As a teenager, Renee believed true artists—like herself, hopefully—labored in obscurity, attaining perfection before showing anyone their work. She’d told her friends that she wanted to be a director, but never confessed how deep that desire ran. Meanwhile, Lola was earnest and unashamed about her ambition, playing her original songs at every school talent show for the same kids who made fun of her, and at the county fair for total strangers. Instead of finding it admirable, Renee had cringed at the sincerity, embarrassed that Lola was brave enough to take herself seriously.
Even though reactions like Renee’s were the reason that she required bravery in the first place.
When Kadijah talked about why they loved Lola Gray, they spoke about getting swept away in the world of Lola’s stories. Renee was beginning to understand that—though not quite how Kadijah had meant.
It was impossible to listen to one of Lola’s songs and think of anything but Lo. Renee could almost see Lola’s thin, skilled fingers picking out the notes on her guitar, how her eyes crinkled when she laughed, how she sat with her knees pulled to her chest when she was tired. How that smile of hers was sometimes a mask, sometimes armor, but when it was genuine, it felt like a blessing.
Most of all, Renee wondered who Lola’s songs were about.
Renee had done her research, under the supervision of Kadijah, who was still sending her old interviews and YouTube explainers. The cultish Lo-Lites were devoted to analyzing Lola’s lyrics for revelatory details and easter eggs about her life. Lo-Lites were consumed with matching names to songs. A lyric mentioned flannel, and they’d find a photo of some indie musician wearing plaid while holding Lola’shand. She’d sing about a Mendocino sunset, and they’d unearth an Instagram post geotagged at Sea Ranch, when she was briefly linked to some comedian.
Renee consumed this information academically. It didn’t make her jealous to think of these men with Lola, who was obviously too good for them. She didn’t wonder how Lola behaved in their presence, if she was Lola Gray or Renee’s Lo. She didn’t contemplate what other NDAs might be floating around, whose names were hastily scribbled on those contracts, or what gender of people those names were attached to. If any of these thoughts arose in Renee’s mind, it was in some dusty and easily ignored back corner.
While Renee avoided any curiosity on that final point—the gender of Lola’s lovers—some Lo-Lites were consumed with it: the #LavaTruthers. Lyrics likeI’m the cat that got the cream, from “Just Between Us,” a non-album single released afterWild Heart, were canonized as crystal clear evidence of a relationship with a woman—specifically Ava Andreesen. Any time Lola sported an outfit short of full femme glamour, or was photographed in blue-and-pink bisexual lighting, or wore her nails short, the LavaTruthers entered it into their catalog of evidence.
Lola had not mentioned Ava to Renee. Shehadmentioned that she had known she was bisexual in high school, which was extremely interesting. That meant that the songs on Lola’s first album—written when Lola was still living next door to Renee and before her first boyfriend, Kyte—could have been about girls.
Whichgirls, was the question. Lola had probably crushed on a straight cheerleader, or someone from the child-pageant circuit, or that hot forward from the Fellows High girls’ soccer team. Renee wished she had her junior yearbook. It would be more helpful than any gossip site.
Renee’s favorite song from that first album, “Star Sign,” began to play.
I want to be closer to you,
But what else is new?
Renee rolled over and pressed her face into a pillow. The fact that sheadoredthis song was among the biggest surprises of the last few very surprise-filled weeks.
The melody was compulsively listenable, but the lyrics felt visceral and real. “Star Sign” was about waiting for a signal that your crush liked you back. The lyrics alluded to the night sky and waiting for a falling star. The song always stirred an emotion that Renee couldn’t quite name—longing? Nostalgia? It made her think of one of the last times she and Lola had spent together, just before Lola left forYou’re Next!Their physics teacher offered extra credit to anyone who watched a mid-February meteor shower. She and Lola had stayed up until 2 a.m. drinking Red Bull and hot chocolate in Renee’s living room, then huddled together against the cold, their boots squeaking on the snow, as stars fell to earth like confetti.
It was unreal that a seventeen-year-old had written a song that unearthed memories that Renee hadn’t realized she’d forgotten. Memories Lola had probably forgotten too.
“Star Sign” built to a cathartic bridge that was nearly impossible not to sing along to. When Lola’s voice loosed all that pent-up desire into the lineYou were watching the stars, but I was watching you, Renee got chills. After the bridge, true to Lola’s romantic bent, her crush saw the sign they needed and realized they wanted Lola all along.
It made Renee wish that she had really been part of Lola’s life back then, instead of being such a self-obsessed dick. While Lola had been sitting in her bedroom—the same bedroom that Renee had inher own identical house—writing lyrics with a wisdom beyond her years, Renee had probably been getting into a fight with her mom and punching the wall so hard she pockmarked the plaster. Not that she’d done thatsooften, but she had lost her temper a lot as a teenager.
If she’d been closer to Lola back then, Renee would already know who “Star Sign” was about.
Maybe that was the problem: Renee didn’t know Lola well enough anymore for her to open up on camera. Today, reminding her of that story about the national anthem had gotten her laughing at herself. If Renee wanted more of that, relying on their shared past wouldn’t be enough. She needed to get closer to Lolanow.
Renee reached for her phone.
11
Renee slid into a red leather booth at the Formosa Cafe. She looked delighted as she took in the vintage black-and-white headshots lining the walls, the crimson Chinese lanterns, dragons, and knot patterns woven into the decor. In one corner, there was a full-size trolley car, retrofitted to hold tables.
“This place is awesome,” she said.
“I thought you’d like it,” Lola said. “Clark Gable and James Dean used to hang out at the bar. There’s a studio lot across the street.”
