Page 54 of When I Picture You
Nash dismissed that with a chuckle. “Maybe if I make it to Cannes one day, my management would let me wear a shirt with the teeniest, tiniest ruffle. But they’d make me burn it before I left Europe.”
Lola changed the subject. “Are you feeling good about the premiere?”
Anxiety flashed over Nash’s face before he schooled it back to sunshine. “Completely. I can’t wait for everyone to see it.”
Lola looked back at Renee. “Nash did his own stunts.”
“I did! Well, except the ones the insurance company wouldn’t sign off on. I got to do a lot of really cool fight scenes too. At least, I think they’ll be cool,” he said, deflating a little.
Lola reached for his hand.
“I did the best I could, but with action movies, you never know. When they put it all together, they might pick my worst take becauseit works with some CGI explosion. And then I’ll be upstaged by a stupid fireball.”
“Speaking as a director, I don’t think a fireball could upstage you,” Renee said. “You have a lot of charisma.”
Lola watched Renee, a glowy feeling spreading inside her to see two of her favorite people, together.
“Really?” Nash asked, his golden retriever energy surging again. “You have to tell me what you think. Promise to find me at the after-party?”
“I’m only authorized to film parts of the red carpet, not the after-party,” Renee said.
“Oh, stop it,” Lola said. “She’ll be there.”
***
They pulled up to the theater on Hollywood Boulevard. Lola prepared mentally for the noise that would burst over them once they hit the carpet. She and Nash shared a reassuring glance and then they were on. Flashes flashing, photographers yelling. Nash moved down the carpet first, then Lola, each posing solo, then as a couple. When they came together, Lola angled her body into his and he set his hand on the small of her back.
“Give her a kiss, Nash!” one photographer yelled, and he leaned down and kissed her cheek.
Lola’s attention kept straying to Renee, following a few feet behind with her camera. Her face was set, her focus on her work amid the red carpet chaos. As she and Nash arranged themselves again, he leaned into her ear. “Distracted by your girlfriend?”
Lola shot him a cutting look, then remembered herself and relaxed her face.
“I will step on your foot in these heels and make it look like an accident,” she said under her breath.
After the photo call, she and Nash separated for press. Lola delivered sound bites about the film and her dress, and evaded questions about new music. Nash would be tied up until the screening began. She could have headed into the theater, but she lingered at the end of the red carpet for Renee.
“I have to run this camera back to the car,” Renee said, although she didn’t move to do so. “You didn’t have to invite me to the after-party.”
“Nash wants you there—and I do too. I kind of hate these things, but … maybe I’d hate it less with you.”
“Oh. Okay then, yeah.” There was nothing left for her to do but walk away—Renee’s seat was in some balcony level nowhere near Lola’s—but she hesitated. “I forgot to say this earlier, but you look truly incredible. The dress is even better than I remember.” A flush bloomed over Renee’s cheeks. “Right, so. I’ll see you later.”
“Yeah, later. I mean—thank you,” Lola said, her cheeks warming too.
As Renee headed off, Lola cast a final look down the red carpet. The stream of people had dwindled, so Lola could see the street. One SUV was still waiting, its passenger’s toes reaching for the ground: ankle boots, leather pants, an expanse of flat stomach—
Lola’s body reacted before her brain understood: her heart beat too slow and too fast at once, her insides crumpling like a fist. She knew those slim hips, the arc of bone protruding from the waist of the pants, the smooth skin of that midriff. She recognized the exact bra that was entirely visible under a cropped mesh top: Ava had scolded her once for pulling too hard on the lace.
Ava.
A bright flash of frustration burst through Lola. It wasn’tfair. This was Lola’s boyfriend’s premiere—Lola’s space, not Ava’s. No one fromNash’s team had warned Lola—although why would they, when the two women were nothing but ex-BFFs? And Ava had shown up in old lingerie and leather pants—when Lola had suffered through weeks of negotiation just to wear a dress she liked—and of course, Ava looked completely, horribly amazing, exactly like she always did.
Lola bit the inside of her cheek hard and used the burst of pain to center herself. Her brain was collapsing into a vortex of toxic thoughts. She had to get off the red carpet.
Lola forced herself to head into the theater. Her seat would be up front with Nash, and far from Ava’s. She passed under an enormous poster of Nash and his female costar surfing the hood of a car as it sailed away from an explosion. Ava’s presence behind her felt like exactly that kind of devouring fireball.
Would Ava speak to her at the after-party? Ava wouldn’t bring up all the pathetic, pleading texts Lola had sent, would she? Or should Lola initiate a conversation, in a bid for the upper hand? No, that was ridiculous; she’d never controlled a single thing in their relationship.
