Page 48 of When I Picture You
“Because as much as Lola loves dogs, she doesn’t volunteer at dog rescues, Micah,” Renee said. “And I think you know that. I’m going to be working with her one-on-one.”
“Doing what exactly?”
“Humanizing her another way.”
“I suppose the dog rescue isn’t critical,” he granted. “Send me the details so I can tell hair and makeup. You’ll need some lights and we’ll get Alejandro on audio.”
“No hair and makeup, no crew. Trust me, I’m great at shooting solo. And hey—we’re keeping costs down, right?”
“Gloriana won’t love this,” he said.
“Then don’t tell her.” She’d added some Lola Gray–worthy positivity into her tone. “Come on, Micah, be a team player on this one.”
Now, the door swung open to reveal Lola, not an assistant or housekeeper or any of the staff she’d promised would be out of the house. Lola wore an oversize cardigan, leggings, and glasses.
“You wear glasses?” Renee said.
“Hello to you too,” Lola said as she led Renee into the kitchen. “I’m supposed to take a break from my contacts when I can. I was up late last night. Album stuff. You want a coffee?”
“’Course.”
Lola grabbed a mug. Renee watched her, not even bothering to set her stuff down. She couldn’t get over how Lola’s doe eyes looked even larger than usual behind the lenses. Her hair loose and long, the unconscious way she swept it out of her face, and how the sleeves of her sweater bunched up at her wrists. She looked like Saturday morning. Renee was overwhelmed with a vision of Lola tucked into the corner of a couch, her glasses slipping down her nose as she filled in the crossword puzzle, the two of them playing footsie.
Lola pressed a few buttons and the smell of coffee filled the kitchen. “I don’t think it’s fair to hold someone to promises they made after you pressured them into using drugs.”
“For the record, you were fully sober when we set this up. If you want to back out, that’s cool. But I do think this is what the film needs. If it doesn’t work, I’ll cut it. Worst-case scenario, you spend the day with me.”
Lola handed her a mug and leaned against the counter beside Renee. She scrunched up her nose. “Gross.”
“Come on, you know you love me,” Renee said.
Lola let out a laugh and her eyes darted away. Suddenly Renee was acutely aware of how close they were standing and how empty the house was.
Lola cleared her throat. “I need to put my contacts in.”
“Keep the glasses,” Renee said. “The fans will think they’re adorable.”
NOW,ASRENEEfollowed Lola into her studio, anticipation fluttered in her belly. She and Lola had planned on focusing on Lola’s music: her process, the stories behind her songs—the artistic, personal things she might not want the whole crew around for. Renee felt as if she were being admitted to an inner sanctum.
The studio was so much cozier than Renee had imagined. Sun streamed through huge windows onto a pillow-packed couch and a fluffy sheepskin rug. The room was full of the stuff of Lola’s music: a white piano, the rack of guitars, a shelf of shiny gold and cut-crystal awards, a computer hooked up to a mic, a keyboard, and some additional gear.
Lola flopped down on the couch while Renee set up the camera, then triple-checked the SD card, batteries, and backup batteries. She attached a mic to the camera, then set another recorder on the coffee table as fail-safe. She cracked her knuckles, then her neck. If this worked how she was hoping, she’d finally have something of quality to show Dragan. She might even be able to drop the staged shoots entirely.
Lola yawned, then rubbed her temple under the arm of her glasses.
Yes,thiswas what Renee needed: Lo, playing with her phone and her cheek smushed against the couch cushion, a little tired and undone. If Renee could keep Lo in that place, away from the show-pony version of herself, this could work.
Renee hit record. “Lo, can you explain where we are?”
Lola lifted her eyes, the wrist holding her phone going slack. Renee braced herself for Lola Gray to return and present the room like an overeager Realtor.
But instead, Lola arched an eyebrow and said, “This is where the magic happens.”
Reneeblushed.
“Just kidding,” Lola said, pushing herself off the couch. “Most of the time I use it for songwriting.”
“I—um—you know I’m recording, right?”
