Chapter Thirty
Lola felt like she was on an out-of-control carousel, and every time she tried to get off, someone was handing her another glass of champagne or needing her to pose for a picture or taking her to someone she just had to meet.
Inviting Annie to the premiere was starting to feel like a bad idea, but at least every time Lola saw her, her date was chatting with someone new. Maybe she was having fun?
Lola got dragged into a long conversation with Brett’s annoying girlfriend—a twenty-five-year-old influencer launching a line of “intuitive workout wear” that she wanted Lola to support. As Lola nodded along to the pitch, she was reminded, once again, of why she was falling for Annie.
Annie, who reminded her that success might dazzle, but happiness was homemade.
Annie, who never asked for more than honesty and presence, and gave both in return.
Annie, who, Lola realized as she scanned the crowd, was gone.
· · ·
The next morning, Lola awoke to the unfamiliar sound of a siren.
An unfamiliar hangover. But—thankfully—a very familiar woman in her arms. Lola relaxed with a contented sigh.
She was in New York City in bed with the girl of her dreams. The dreaded premiere was in the past. And their play was tomorrow! Life was very, very good.
Annie shifted, rolling over. She was already wide awake.
“Morning, pretty.” Lola kissed her, letting it linger.
Annie cut it short, wiggling back. “I need coffee.”
“No,” Lola groaned playfully. “Don’t leave me.”
“I won’t.” Annie gave Lola an oddly complicated look that Lola was a bit too hungover to parse. She swiped at her eyes, her hand coming away black. She’d forgotten to wash off her makeup last night.
“Yeah, you wrecked your pillowcase.” Annie pointed to Lola’s silk case, now streaked with mascara.
“I’ll get a new one,” Lola sighed, unconcerned.
“Right. You can just…do that,” Annie said lightly. Almost too lightly.
Annie was annoyed.
“We didn’t leave together.” Only now did Lola remember.
Annie had texted—Grabbing some beauty sleep!
I have the door code—have fun! She’d been asleep when Lola got home, curled into the far side of the bed.
“And we didn’t sit together,” Lola recalled, the pieces of the night clicking into place. “Oh god. I’m so sorry.”
“That’s okay.”
“I barely got two seconds with you.”
“It’s fine.”
Lola sat up, wanting to face whatever was happening head-on. “It’s just, you sound a bit…”
“What?” Annie’s voice had an almost undetectable edge, which seemed to prove the point.
“You’re disappointed,” Lola concluded. “With how it all went. Honestly? Me too. I thought we’d be able to sit together.
I thought we’d have more time at the party.
I guess I didn’t realize how much they’d need me to work the room.
But I still really liked having you there.
” Lola reached for Annie’s hand, wanting to convey the sincerity she felt. “I hope I haven’t scared you off.”
“Never.” But there was something tight in Annie’s smile. “Did you have fun?” she asked. “Was it a good night for you?”
Lola considered it, wanting to be completely honest. “I like being back in the city. New York’s still New York. Gorgeous and impossible, like always.” She smiled, still thinking. “The turnout was good. People liked my dress.”
“But did you like your dress?” Annie asked, her expression intent.
“I mean, it’s not what I’d wear on the weekend but it did the trick,” Lola said.
Annie picked at her nails. “It looked uncomfortable.”
Lola laughed in confusion. “Dresses like that aren’t supposed to be comfortable—they’re supposed to look good and photograph well, which it did.
” Lola sensed Annie didn’t like her dress but maybe she was misreading things—she was a bit more hungover than she’d planned.
“More importantly, did you have fun? Apart from not spending enough time together. Was it okay?”
Annie gazed back, her big blue eyes flickering fast between Lola’s own.
Lola held her breath. Then Annie started nodding.
Started smiling. “You know what? I did. I really did.” She relaxed back into Lola’s arms. “It was so cool being at something like that. Like, a party at the center of the universe. I loved my dress, felt great in it all night. And I had some surprisingly fun convos.”
“Really? Who with?”
Annie laughed self-consciously. “You know, not sure I even got names. But seeing you on the big screen?” Annie fanned herself. “I think I have a blue skin kink now.”
Lola laughed, pleased and grateful. “You promise? You promise you had an okay time?”
Annie met her gaze, speaking with soft sincerity. “I promise.”
“Thank god,” Lola said in relief, pressing a kiss to Annie’s mouth.
“It’s already eight.” Annie pulled back. “We need coffee, and very greasy breakfast sandwiches, if we have any chance of making it back on time.”
· · ·
They arrived back in Rhodes just before twelve. It seemed every streetlight, every shop window, had posters advertising the play: Starring LOLA WILSON for One Night Only!
Pushing open the playhouse’s large front door, Lola was greeted by the smell of popcorn. The concession stand was fully stocked with old-school treats: Jujyfruits, Junior Mints, Milk Duds.
A stack of folded black-and-white programs with a grainy photo of Lola and Annie in costume sat on the counter.
It was far from being a colorful, professional playbill, but to Lola it meant so much more.
She scanned the list of cast and crew members, knowing every single name.
She turned to Annie. “Let’s get this framed. ”
But Annie had already gone inside.
Garrett’s voice sounded. “Final dress rehearsal starts in ten, people!”
Lola refocused shifting into director mode. She pushed open the doors to the theater.
Inside, the cast and crew were buzzing about.
Reminders flew from Lola’s lips as she strode up the center aisle feeling energized and purposeful.
“Morning, Clyde! Don’t forget to let the line as fits a king’s remembrance linger.
Deb, you’re stage left for that second entrance, not stage right.
Jamie, hi, your wig is on backwards but loving the dress.
Can we bring the lights to preset one? Thank you! ”
· · ·
The first half of dress rehearsal went well enough, but Vicky and Dylan were off their game, dropping lines and missing cues.
Vicky was clearly underslept and Dylan was distracted.
Lola tried to connect with both of them, but Vicky was tight-lipped.
“I’m fine,” she’d snapped, brushing Lola off, and Dylan simply disappeared during their lunch break.
Had they had a fight? Broken up? The idea had her reeling. She’d assumed they were together for good.
Lunch hour passed in a snap. “Five minutes till we start act two!” Garrett called from center stage.
“Shoot, I still need to post on social,” Lola told Jazz. They still had a few tickets to move. “I’ll be quick.”
Lola hurried up to the balcony seats, intending to post about the show, wolf down a chicken salad sandwich, and check out the obstructed view seats. She sank into the last seat in the very back row. From here, the stage was distant. A diorama of itself.
Lola pulled out her phone for the first time all day.
Her screen was a mess of notifications.
Ten missed calls. All in the last hour. All from Kevin. Multiple texts, too. Another arrived before she’d even swiped her phone open.
JOIN THE ZOOM WILSON!!!! NOW!!!!!! Followed by a link.
Zoom? Her stomach plummeted before her brain assured her she definitely did not have a meeting, today of all days.
Jamming the rest of her sandwich into her mouth, she thumbed a reply. Busy. Talk next week.
Her agent’s response was immediate.
NOW!!!!!! FUCKING NOW!!!!!
Irritation boiled. Still chewing, Lola tapped on the link, ready to channel Vicky Fang and give Kevin a curt piece of her mind.
The Zoom connected. Kevin’s face popped onto the screen. His hair was rumpled and he looked oddly flustered. “So sorry about the hold-up, folks, I know she’s beyond thrilled about—ah, here she is!” His relief was pronounced. Her agent’s tone became kingly. “The woman of the hour: Lola Wilson.”
Lola froze, mid-chew. On the screen, her own image was shadowed, barely visible. She was still in her costume—the Elizabethan-style fitted doublet.
“Lola, hi.” A woman in her fifties Lola didn’t recognize spoke with a mid-Atlantic accent. “Fran Woods, one of the EPs. Wonderful to meet you! And thank you for being so understanding.”
A Greek chorus of agreement followed, faces popping chaotically on the screen as they spoke over one another: Really appreciate it—So last minute—You’re in New York, right?
Lola straightened, alarm making everything tight. It was like walking into her own surprise party, but finding it full of strangers and not on her birthday. She choked down her mouthful. “Sorry, I’ve, um, been in rehearsals,” she managed, “I’m not totally sure…” What the fuck is going on.
“Roll call!” Kevin called cheerily, although she knew him well enough to hear the stress in his voice. Faces popped up as he introduced them—execs, a lawyer, another EP—most unfamiliar, some vaguely recognizable, but a disorientated Lola couldn’t pick from where.
“And last but certainly not least, our director—or should I say, your director—the one and only…Kris Mack!”
“My director?” Lola repeated dumbly as Kris Mack himself appeared on Lola’s phone screen.
“Hello again, Lola,” Kris spoke with warm authority. He appeared to be on a soundstage, burly men pushing giant lights behind him. “Awesome to see you again, albeit under pretty unusual circumstances.”
“Good to see you, too, Kris.” Lola was not quite inside her own body as she spoke.