Chapter Twenty-Nine
Two days till the show
“Annie!” Sal called again from outside the bathroom door. “Come out of there before one of us goes gray!”
Annie dabbed on some cherry lip balm, wiped it off, then reapplied the exact same amount. “Just a minute.”
“You said that many minutes ago. I have a Snatch Game special at four!”
Annie met her own gaze in the bathroom mirror, wincing at her wobbly eyeliner.
Lola had booked a professional makeup artist, offering their services as a gift to Annie, which seemed like an unnecessary expense and possible inconvenience.
Now Annie was wondering if she should’ve said yes.
“Okay. Lower your expectations.” She sucked in a breath, said a quick prayer to the fashion gods, and opened the bathroom door. “Ta-da?”
Out in the hallway, Sal’s eyes went wide. “Ta-da indeed. You look stunning! Red carpet ready, for sure!”
Annie couldn’t help but squeal. Her first red carpet! In this dress, she was ready.
In preparation for Saturn Rising’s premiere, she’d spent every free hour scouring every thrift store in a twenty-mile radius before finding The Dress.
Flapper-style, adorned with intricate art deco–style sequins and beads, and a beaded fringe that shimmied around her knees.
Glitzier than anything she owned. And it was only thirty bucks!
Which left just enough money to get her roots touched up, her French bob now an even, rosebud pink.
Her electric blue eyeliner was on loan from Deb, a nod to the blue spandex Lola’s character wore in the film.
The overall look was comfortable, cute, and special. Just like Annie herself.
“It’s not too…twee?” she asked, but truthfully, Annie was fishing for compliments.
Sal shook his head, looking like a proud dad. “No. It’s perfect.”
Annie glowed with excitement, imagining, once again, how her and Lola’s hands might slide together in their shared popcorn.
How they’d exchange a secret smile in the standing ovation.
How she’d be the perfect under-the-radar date—independent and self-reliant, but on call for emotional support or shared snark.
Outside, a car honked. Sal went to the window. “Lola’s here!”
Annie zipped up her overnight bag. Their driver would drop their stuff at Lola’s loft, after he delivered them to the premiere. They’d then drive back to Rhodes the next morning for their final dress rehearsal.
A wave of nerves hit Annie all at once. “What if I fall on my face like Carrie in the runway episode? What if I mispronounce Zendaya or Chalamet? What if everyone identifies me as the country bumpkin I actually am and laughs me out of New York City?”
“Annie.” Sal grasped her shoulders. “No one will be thinking about you—they’ll be thinking about themselves. But you’re not there for them; you’re there for Lola. And I have to say,” he added, looking a little sheepish, “maybe I was wrong about her. Her inviting you to this—it’s huge.”
“A huge test,” Annie said. “That I might fail.”
“I don’t think so,” Sal said. “Not if you stay true to who you are. That’s who Lola likes. Now, get your shoes on. I may have organized a little surprise.”
Intrigued, Annie slipped on her funkiest pair of dance-floor-friendly sneakers and trotted downstairs, outside to Henry Street.
Where she started to laugh and blush at the same time.
Crowding the sidewalk in front of the salon was the entire cast. Vicky, Dylan, Deb, Clyde, Jamie, Mikki, Maria, all four teens, Jazz, and Garrett lined either side of a red Persian rug, leading to a black town car.
Next to it, Lola, in a caramel trench coat, stood smiling a soft, proud smile.
That look lit something in Annie’s chest.
Sal was right. This wasn’t just an invitation to a big night. It was an invitation into Lola’s world. Maybe she’d find a way to belong.
On seeing Annie, everyone broke into cheers: “Go Annie! Congrats, Lola!”
Annie elbowed Sal. “I had no idea you were such a cheeseball.”
“Guess you’re rubbing off on me,” he joked, adding in a whisper, “I didn’t tell anyone you guys are involved.” Stepping back, he gave her arm a squeeze. “They just wanted to wish you luck.”
Embarrassed, but also low-key loving it, Annie walked “the red carpet” to Lola, who gave her a hug. “You look gorgeous,” she murmured, before stepping back to open the car door.
“Have fun, darlings!” Jazz waved.
“Don’t forget about us!” called Zoe.
“Tell Brett I put out on the first date!” added Sal.
Giggling, Annie slid into the back seat. Everyone waved as they headed off, their voices replaced by the quiet hum of the car.
Annie looked to Lola. Her hair was a flawless waterfall of blond. Her skin was contoured so expertly, her entire face shape seemed different. “I’d kiss you,” Lola said, “but I don’t want to ruin your makeup.”
Annie reached across the back seat to take Lola’s hand. “Nothing will ruin tonight,” she said. Or really, she hoped. Because she couldn’t help it; this did feel like a test.
One that Annie intended to pass.
· · ·
There was a mob outside the theater in Midtown Manhattan. That’s the only way Annie could describe it—a mob, like in a zombie movie. Wild-eyed fans waved headshots and Sharpies, cellphones hoisted like burning torches.
Gold lights pulsed along the theater’s awning in time with the looping Saturn Rising trailer playing on a giant LED screen. A velvet rope carved a path toward the entrance, flanked by the crush of fans behind barricades and a wall of photographers shooting the arrivals.
Lola and Annie had been snuggled close for the entire ride, but now, Lola pulled back with an apologetic smile. “Showtime.”
Annie wasn’t upset—it was what she signed up for, and privacy made sense.
The car pulled into a cordoned-off space. A woman wearing stylish all black with a clipboard in one hand opened the door. This was Kimberly, Annie assumed, the publicist. “Here she issssss!” Kimberly crowed. “Our star!”
“Bet you say that to all the girls,” Lola quipped. She slid out of the car with effortless grace, handing Kimberly her trench coat as they air-kissed.
Annie scrambled out less gracefully, only now seeing Lola’s dress in full. Tight, black, with large asymmetric cutouts showing off her toned stomach, thighs, and back. Sexy. Chic. Annie felt a worrying ping over the dress code—Lola had said to wear whatever she wanted—before shaking it off.
This was Lola’s night, after all.
“This is Annie.” Lola raised her voice to be heard over the crowd.
“Of course!” Kimberly handed Annie a lanyard without breaking eye contact with Lola. “You look stunning, doll. Ready?”
They began moving toward the entrance. Everything was brighter and louder than Annie expected—flashbulbs popped like fireworks, people yelled Lola’s name, a woman in a blazer shouted, “Where the fuck is hair and makeup?!” Annie trailed Kimberly and Lola past the fans, watching Lola sign a few posters, pose for some selfies.
Annie made awkward eye contact with fans whose gazes took her, then discarded her as someone non-famous—unimportant.
Surprisingly painful to be deemed irrelevant.
Annie remembered Sal’s words—she wasn’t there for them. She was there for Lola.
The foyer was big and brightly lit. The walls were plastered with more Saturn Rising promo: glossy stills of muscled space captains, explosive asteroid battles, and Lola—blue-skinned, backlit, barely dressed—gazing solemnly into the cosmic void.
Kimberly led Lola to the step-and-repeat—the red carpet—which faced shouting paparazzi with giant cameras.
Annie watched as Lola moved into place, shifting seamlessly into finding her angles.
Smiling big, then simpering with a sexy smirk.
One hand on hip, then hand dropped to the side, then hip turned forty-five degrees.
Annie would not be trying any of those poses.
It was almost unnerving to see Lola transform in this way, displaying yet another side of her. What sort of hidden skill might Annie impress Lola with? Her high school French? Her moderate ability to juggle?
Lola moved down the line.
Annie readied herself. “When should I go?” she asked Kimberly.
Kimberly looked briefly startled to see Annie still next to her. “Oh, you don’t have to worry about that, Anna,” she said with a laugh. “This is just for talent. Why don’t you head inside and find your seat?”
Annie felt a swift kick of rookie shame. Of course she wasn’t going to be photographed! She wasn’t talent. She was just a civilian.
Following orders, she went inside.
The auditorium was massive, three times the size of the Rhodes Playhouse. Hundreds of plush velvet seats curved around in a steep stadium-style layout. An attendant directed Annie toward the back. Far from the front. “Oh, I’m with Lola Wilson?” It came out as a question. “Her plus-one?”
The attendant smiled, unfazed. “Your lanyard is general admission. You can sit anywhere up there.” The nosebleed section.
Annie’s instinct was to back down. But WWVD—what would Vicky do? “Lola said we’d sit together,” Annie said, a little more firmly.
The attendant’s smile slipped, assessing Annie as a potential crazed fan. “Your lanyard is general admission,” he repeated, even more firmly. “But I can always check with security.”
Annie found a seat up the back, pulling out her phone to text Lola. Help! I’m stuck in general admission!
Minutes passed. The theater continued to fill. Two chatty twentysomethings dressed casually in jeans sat next to Annie, making her feel wildly overdressed.
No reply from Lola.
Eventually the lights dimmed. The energy shifted.
A dozen stylishly dressed people came up the center aisle to scattered applause.
The cast. Lola. The sight of her, an arrow right in Annie’s heart.
The group filed into the empty front row as a host appeared onstage, welcoming the crowd.
Next to Lola, Brett sat with an arm around his date, a willowy blonde.