Page 52 of When I Picture You
By the time cameras and lighting were rearranged and Ackerlund was getting dusted with anti-shine powder, Lola still wasn’t there.
Renee texted,Everything ok?
Yes! Held up at home. So sorry!
Renee frowned. Lola should have been there thirty—no, forty-five minutes ago, and she was only leaving home now?
“So Ackerlund, what three words would you pick to describe Lola?” Micah asked. Renee rolled her eyes. Yes, Ackerlund was wearing sunglasses with yellow lenses and had clusters of prayer beads looped on his wrists and neck, but he had been one of the top-performing pop producers for the last five years. He was behind fifteen Hot 100 number ones, five of them with Lola. Surely, there were more interesting things to discuss.
Ackerlund didn’t appreciate the question either. “Lola’s a pop genius. The best I’ve ever seen,” he said evenly. “Most artists come in with the lyrics, or an unfinished idea, and we build from the ground up. Lola brings me demos that are already pure ear candy, and I’m just putting polish on.”
Renee’s chest swelled. Lo was so good that Ackerlund, one of the defining producers of the era, was gushing about her.
He went on, “Lola’s got an amazing gift. She’s able to tap into emotion that feels honest and personal in the context of a hyper-relatable pop song. The first session I did with her, I knew this girl wasn’t making songs for ten thousand people, or a hundred thousand people. She was making music for a million people that feels like it was made just foryou.”
Still, as the interview went on, Renee began to wonder how well Ackerlund knew Lola. Making art together was personal, vulnerable. But as Ackerlund said, Lola was an expert at creating the feeling of intimacy, while giving as little of herself away as possible. Did Ackerlund know Lola sometimes wrote love songs about women, or that the relationship with Nash was staged? Did he know what it meant when she wore that crinkle-eyed smile, when she looked desperate to please?
Did he know the girl who looked down at her old notebooks and wondered if she’d run out of things to say?
WherewasLola, anyway?
Renee’s phone buzzed. It was a text from Cassidy.
Lola had a migraine. She needed to rest up before the premiere tomorrow. She wouldn’t be coming.
16
Eyes down.”
A brush swept across Lola’s eyelids. Her hands were in the custody of two manicurists, and a hairstylist was attaching extra extensions to the back of her head.
“So, this is how the Lola Gray sausage gets made,” Renee said.
Lola wedged one eye open to look at Renee. The hotel room was crowded with her glam squad in red-carpet-prep mode. Renee, trying to stay out of the way with her camera, had ended up leaning her hips against the windowsill in front of Lola. She was wearing that jumpsuit again, the one from the wedding, with the same heels and the same red lip. The soft light coming in through the sheers lit up the curves of her body. Lola, sitting below Renee, with her legs crossed under her and dressed only in a loose button-up and boxer shorts, felt nearly naked staring up at her.
“This isn’t even my final form,” Lola said lightly, as the makeup artist waited for the glue on a strip of false lashes to get tacky. “Could I please have a sip of my iced coffee?”
The coffee was on a nearby table, but Lola’s job for the moment was to move as little as possible.
“I got it,” Renee said. She set the camera down, as the makeup artist applied lashes to Lola’s half-closed lids. The makeup artist moved away, and Renee raised the straw to Lola’s lips. As she took along sip, a cold bead of condensation dripped onto the bare skin of her thigh.
Dozens of different people had held Lola’s drink during glam, maybe even hundreds, and the only sensation she’d ever experienced was a spike of awkwardness. Yet, there were three other people touching Lola in that second, and Lola could feel Renee more keenly than any of them—Renee’s closeness, her scent, her attention. Lola’s body responded with a wave of heat that gathered between her legs.
Lola’s tongue ran over her lips, trying to put the thoughts out of her mind.
But when she raised her eyes, Renee was still above her, her red lips slightly open and her own eyes hazy as she gazed down at Lola. No—not at Lola, at Lola’smouth. Suddenly, Lola was remembering the last time they’d been in a hotel room together, when Lola had drawn down the zipper of this same jumpsuit, revealing the muscles that made a valley of Renee’s spine, the lace edge of her panties, the gorgeous fullness of her ass, and how—
No, she had to stop this. Why was Renee wearing the jumpsuit again anyway? Didn’t she own another outfit?
Lola cleared her throat. “Thanks.”
“My pleasure.” Renee put the coffee down and grabbed the camera, which had, of course, been pointed right at them. “Caffeine’s good for headaches, right?”
“Right,” Lola said. “But I’m feeling much better today.”
God, she hated the slimy feeling of lying, but what choice had she had? Before the session with Ackerlund, she’d spent every night sleepless, racking her brain for the kernel of a song that might work, but Ava was like salt plowed into the earth of her creativity: nothing could take root. Anything new she wrote, the LavaTruthers would spin for their theories. Anything romantic—from longing and lust, to love and heartbreak—was radioactive. What was she supposedto do, transition to a career of female empowerment anthems and dance club hits? Lola Gray wrote love songs. She wouldn’t be herself if she left that behind.
She’d tried to make herself meet with Ackerlund anyway. Well, she tried, then panicked, wept a little hysterically, iced her face to calm down, only to lose it again. She’d promised Gloriana, who had promised the label, that she’d have something to show for herself and she simplydid not.Finally, Cassidy had called Gloriana, and Lola had babbled out something about not being ready, needing more time,just a little more time. Gloriana had told her to make it work. That seeing Ackerlund would help. That a little songwriting assistance was one phone call away. Lola had promised to go, but once she’d hung up, she couldn’t stop thinking of the cameras, not only Renee, but all her fans witnessing her downfall.
