Chapter 10
A s Micah had promised, the schedule had them hitting the ground running, but the gait wasn’t exactly elegant, given the clunky staged shoots and enormous crew.
Renee dedicated her second coffee each day to summoning the energy for Micah’s “quick chats” about adhering to the schedule and making every shot count.
She was starting to believe in telepathy, given how often she could feel him second-guessing her every choice.
He had a lot of chances to do so.
Managing a crew required making a zillion decisions and delegating responsibility, something Renee had never done in her life.
The multitasking of working solo, like Renee was used to, was taxing enough, but now she was operating Camera One while hoping Camera Two was getting good B-roll, parsing entertainment industry jargon, listening for helicopters overhead that would ruin the sound, and worrying Lola was too tired to film—all with an audience.
Fortunately, Renee had fallen into a good vibe with the crew.
She thanked her lucky stars for Alejandro especially.
He’d started in the industry straight out of college and had a ton of experience.
Alejandro navigated the set and all the equipment with such professionalism and ease that Renee questioned whether an MFA was actually better than industry experience.
He had saved her from at least a dozen amateur mistakes.
Despite all that, Renee’s inexperience wasn’t the shoot’s biggest issue.
The problem was Lola.
It was nearly September now, two weeks into filming, and Lola still had an effortfulness that fizzed over everything with a bland positivity.
When they shot a smell test for her next perfume, Lola said with a straight face that she’d always been passionate about scents.
Filming some yogilates workout, Lola explained that as a performer, her body was her instrument.
Everything she said felt calibrated to project the image of America’s Sweetheart.
She never mumbled or said um or uh . If she didn’t answer in a complete sentence, she politely asked, Could I go again?
Renee had been hoping the sessions with her producer would unlock something—and yield footage of actual music making—but the first two had been rescheduled.
It was too much Lola Gray and not enough Lo .
Today, they were filming in Lola’s spacious kitchen as Lola “casually” made lunch for friends.
The friends in question were seated at the large marble island: her former assistant and another fellow contestant from Lola’s season of You’re Next!
Renee had questioned this set of alleged friends, since Lola appeared not to have spoken to them in some time, but Lola hadn’t wanted to bother her higher-profile connections.
Renee glanced at Micah and Gloriana watching from behind the crew. Gloriana sometimes popped by the set unannounced. That was her right as executive producer, but Renee felt a stomach ulcer developing whenever it happened. She needed to cut back on those caustic craft services coffees.
Before them, Lola looked incredible in a white tank top, with her chocolate-brown bangs drifting into her face.
She was meant to be chatting with her friends while chopping parsley for tabbouleh salad, but she was doing it in a way that suggested no more than a passing familiarity with parsley, knives, her kitchen, and, possibly, human interaction.
As Lola laughed too loudly at something her ex-assistant said, Alejandro muttered to Renee, “She better stick to music. Can’t act her way out of a paper bag.”
“She’s not supposed to be acting at all,” Renee said through her teeth.
“Then direct her , director,” Alejandro said.
Renee cleared her throat. “Let’s pause.” She stepped around the camera tripod and approached Lola. “Hey, Lo, you know there’s no reason to be so tense, right?”
Lola set the knife down—parsley clung to her hands—and she looked up at Renee with a wounded look in her warm brown eyes. “You think I’m tense?”
Renee’s gaze slid over the clenched muscles of Lola’s jaw and the tendons standing out in her neck. “It’s reading that way on camera a tiny bit. Try to act natural.”
“You have a whole film crew crammed into my kitchen. It’s kind of hard to act natural.” Lola’s shoulders had crept up to her ears.
Without hesitating, Renee faced the crew. “Okay, if you’re not doing something important, get off my set.” My set . She’d never said that before, but if Lola needed a smaller set, Renee was going to give it to her. “And while we’re at it, let’s cut Camera B.”
As the crew reacted, Renee set her hands on Lola’s shoulders. Shit, her muscles were tight—but her skin was so soft. Renee kept her voice low. “Lo, you need to get your head in the game. Having lunch. With friends. We had lunch two weeks ago, so I know you can do it. I’ve seen it happen.”
Somehow, she’d started gently kneading Lola’s muscles. Lola didn’t seem to mind. She rolled her shoulder into Renee’s touch. “That was different. It’s awkward to just stand around talking about myself.”
“Sure, it’s a weird situation. But hey, remember the time you forgot the words to the national anthem? Freshman year, I think.”
Lola’s eyebrows leapt up. “What?”
“At the hockey state regionals. You got to And the rockets , and you blanked.”
“I’ll never forget that,” Lola grumbled. “You were there?”
Renee nodded, her hands still working. “My cousin was playing. Why don’t you tell them that story?”
Lola gave her a playful glare. “I wouldn’t have hired you if I’d known you were just going to embarrass me.”
“I thought you hired me for my killer insight into your past,” Renee replied.
“Same thing.”
“Good gi—I mean good. Jokes are good. Now go make them for your friends.” Renee drew her hands away and Lola went back to her parsley.
From behind the camera, Alejandro was staring at Renee.
“What?” she hissed as she joined him.
He just shook his head and adjusted his grip on the microphone. But behind him, Gloriana—who, Renee noted, had ignored her instructions about leaving the set if you weren’t doing something important—was watching Renee with a thin frown.
Renee shook it off. She was allowed to kick people off the set, to pull a camera, to give the subject of her film a pep talk. And a shoulder rub. Lola had just looked so tense . And now—
And now, Lola was sweeping parsley into a bowl and smiling to herself. “Did I ever tell you guys about the time I forgot the words to the national anthem?”
“That’s more like it,” Alejandro whispered.
Lola laughed—her real laugh—at something her friend said, then she raised a hand to one shoulder, right where Renee had been massaging. It must have been the lighting, but Renee thought she saw her blush.
I N HER HOTEL room 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 was not making 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 delete any footage 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 music was 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.