Page 97 of When I Picture You
“Then why bring it up?” Lola said with a raise of her eyebrow.
Renee winced. “Because I like to keep you informed about what’s going on in my life?”
“Renee.”
Renee folded her arms. “Maybe a tiny, little part of me wants to go. Dragan said he wanted me there. And it would be nice to go to this party without feeling like a fucked-up little gremlin.”
“So, what’s the problem?”
“To everyone I went to school with, Iama fucked-up little gremlin. Dragan’s been nagging me for updates and I can’t even tell him that I found a meaningful direction for the film. Sorry—I didn’t say that to pressure you. It’s justtrue. I can’t tell Dragan until you tell Gloriana.”
Lola’s fingers drifted toward Renee’s hand, but she caught herself. “I’m sorry. I meant to talk to her before this trip, but things got busy. I’ll do it first thing when we get back, I promise. But you should go. You can’t tell me it doesn’t turn you on a little to think about walking into that party knowing they’re all wrong about you.”
Even if it didn’t match her reality, Renee liked the image of her that Lola had in mind: confident, unbothered, striding into that party like she was out of fucks to give. But more than that, she knewLolaloved that image.
“Let Dragan show you off, and we can meet up after at the Saint Satin show.”
THE FOLLOWING AFTERNOON, Renee walked alone through the brisk November chill back to Lola’s apartment. They’d just wrapped the final shoot of the trip—a photoshoot—and professionally, the visit had been a success. She was happy with the footage she’d gotten, especially at last night’s gala. In the film, it would be a moment to reflect that all of Lola’s sacrifices had been worth it, to allow her to reach people like this.
But as Renee’s feet carried her closer to her destination, the satisfied glow from a job well done dimmed: the Fall Reception was beginning in an hour.
Lola wanted her to go, but Lola didn’t understand what it would feel like for Renee to be there. Lola was massively successful, a powerhouse who had climbed to the top of her industry. When Lola Gray walked into a room, eyes were on her because sheimpressed. When Renee walked into the reception—ifshe walked into the reception—eyes would be on her in the way they’d be on a dog that walked in on its hind legs: the near-dropout who’d stumbled onto the opportunity of a lifetime.
Renee hoisted her backpack up her shoulders as Lola’s doorman called the elevator for her.
She’d skip the gala. She’d nap, then take herself out for dinner before the Saint Satin show. She’d tell Lola she didn’t have anything to wear, which was true: her black jumpsuit was dependable, but wearing it three nights in a row was a little excessive. It was starting to smell.
In the apartment, she waved to Cassidy, who had taken off on an earlier errand and was now on the couch with her iPad, then headed to Lola’s room.
When she got there, she found a garment bag laid across the bed with a white envelope inscribed with her name. Renee slid her thumbnail under the seal and pulled out the card.
If I can’t be there with you, at least I can make sure you look good—Lo
Renee pulled down the zipper of the garment bag and gasped with delight. Inside was the rust-red suit she’d admired the day before. How had Lola known? Renee hadn’t been able to stop thinking about this outfit, even though it was nothing like what she usually wore, and cost far beyond what she’d ever spend on clothes. But more than that—Lola had known that Renee would lose her resolve, that she didn’t have anything to wear other than that jumpsuit, that she would need the extra confidence that Lola always managed to give her.
She hoped it would fit. There were three reasons Renee avoided tailored pants: the first two were her hips and ass, and the third was a lack of funds for alterations. Up top, her chest was full enough she didn’t usually mess with button-ups or suit jackets, as much as she wanted to. But even if the suit didn’t fit, the gesture meant a lot.
There was a knock on the door. Renee opened it to see Cassidy, looking rather proud of herself. Beside her stood Lola’s hairstylist, her makeup artist, and a third woman, who introduced herself as a tailor.
“We heard you’ve got a party to go to,” Cassidy said.
RENEE’S STOMACH WASin knots as she walked into the reception at the NYIF’s faculty club. She could not beeline for the bar: that stank of desperation, evidenced by the first-years clustered beside it. Their frightened eyes darted around the room, afraid to recognize anyone, but also afraid not to.
Renee remembered that feeling. She had only been able to get through forty-five minutes of her last Fall Reception, most of which she spent slamming plastic cups of red wine, until she spilled one down the front of her favorite sweater. She’d fled with several mini chocolate eclairs wrapped in a napkin in her jacket pocket.
But today she was wearing a designer suit, the pockets of which would never be sullied by miniature pastries. When she saw Lola later, Renee wanted to say that she hadn’t let herself be intimidated.
“Do I spy Renee Feldman, my star student?” Dragan said. His face was ruddy from the rakija he always insisted everyone sample at the party. “You made it!”
Renee accepted his cheek kisses. “Last-minute change of plans. We’re shooting in the city this week.”
Dragan took her by the arm. “I have some friends of the institute to introduce you to, but while I have you, I am expecting an update before the end of the month. Resolving some of those issues we talked about—finding the purpose, making sure you’re creating something with meaning, yes? Remember, it’s not only your reputation attached to this film. It’s the program’s andmine.”
“You can trust me,” Renee said. “We’re sorting out final details with Lola’s management. I’ll have news soon.”
“Wonderful! Now, there are a few agents here …”
DRAGAN INTRODUCEDRENEEas one of the up-and-coming stars of the program. Renee wished she’d been able to take notes on all the names, which adopted a leave no trace policy during their brief time inside her brain. Whenever Dragan dropped that Renee was making a film about the pop star Lola Gray, someone would recall that their daughter or niece was an enormous fan, as were all of the daughter’s or niece’s friends—actually, they were all rather obsessed with her! When they asked for more details, Renee hedged:exciting new ideasthis,reinvention of the subgenrethat. It felt bizarre to talk about herunvarnished approach to biographical filmmaking, when the film’s new direction wasn’t greenlit, but everyone took Renee’s bullshit at face value. An hour later, her pockets were packed—not with mini eclairs, but with business cards; she had never thought to make her own. She vowed to update her website, assuming she hadn’t let the domain name expire.
