Chapter 1 #2
Still, Renee cared enough about Claudia to set aside her doubts for one night.
She’d known the Grigorians practically since birth, long before Lola swapped her legal last name for the stage-friendly Gray .
Lola was Renee’s age, and Claudia two years older.
When they were young, the Grigorian girls had taken the edge off the loneliness Re nee felt as an only child.
And there had been times Lola and Claudia practically lived at Renee’s, when their dad was away on a trucking job and their mom wasn’t quite keeping things together, often in the gaps between young Lola’s performances at churches and state fairs.
But as happy as Renee was for Claudia, she could not get over how freaking embarrassing this night was about to be.
Renee had been destined to get out of Fellows.
Everyone knew it. She was too smart for her own good, resentful of authority, irritated by Midwestern blandness—and also a lesbian.
She dreamed of moving to a city so big she could be whoever she wanted, making art that people connected with, living a life that was exciting and queer.
As straightforward as Renee’s dreams were, growing up, she didn’t know anyone else who shared them—except for Lola, sort of.
When Renee left for New York, she was supposed to return as an undeniably cool documentary director.
Instead, she’d come crawling back to live in the garage apartment her mom had converted to list on Airbnb.
Tonight, she’d have to explain her failure to launch every time someone asked what she’d been up to.
MOM : I can see you sitting in your car.
Renee’s head whipped up. Her mother was standing at the entrance to the Bottle Factory with her hands on her hips and her curls frizzing in the humidity.
Shit . Renee checked her red lipstick in the rearview mirror and got out of the car.
She was wearing her black jumpsuit. It was her one outfit nice enough to warrant occasional dry cleaning, and it could be trusted to make her look (most importantly) hot and (a close second) too sophisticated for Fellows, Michigan.
Then Renee slammed the door of her car directly onto the seat-belt buckle, making the door bounce open and knock her hard in the shin.
Renee had driven this same car all through high school and the buckle had gotten caught in the door even then, and she had never gotten used to it.
Cursing herself, the car, the heat, and the trauma of human existence, Renee walked into the wedding.
***
Lola was having fun at her big sister’s wedding.
She was having so much fun .
She’d had fun at the rehearsal dinner, despite being exhausted and having come straight from the plane.
She’d smiled graciously whenever one of Josh’s family members said, This must be the famous little sister!
She’d had fun at brunch that morning with her parents and Claudia.
She’d done her best to make sure her mom was happy, not slipping into one of her moods.
She’d had fun with Claudia and all eight bridesmaids, getting glam done by the professionals Lola had flown in, and posing for pictures in their matching pink robes.
She’d ignored the voice in her head that wondered whether she should have taken her team’s recommendation to ask everyone to sign NDAs.
Now, she was having fun waiting in the bridal lounge while the guests arrived. By the mirror, Claudia and their mom were doing a final inspection of Claudia’s look. Lola hoped this was one of the times Mom’s attention felt welcome, and not like the prelude to disaster.
Hanging at the edge of the circle of bridesmaids, Lola timed her laugh perfectly as Claudia’s college roommate finished a story about a boozy brunch gone wrong.
Her phone, clutched in her hand, vibrated. She glanced at the screen, then forced herself to decline the call, although she wouldn’t have minded an excuse to step out of this room for a moment—even if it was to talk to her manager, Gloriana.
Lola hated that her nerves were so on edge.
She’d been looking forward to Claudia’s wedding since the moment Josh proposed.
She truly liked Claudia’s friends. The core group had been close since high school, their relationship welcoming enough to encompass college roommates, new friends, Josh’s sister—though never quite Lola herself.
That was hardly surprising, since she was never around.
Even for the bachelorette in Tulum that Lola had arranged and paid for, she’d only been able to stay for one night.
It was the simple intimacy that wore on Lola.
They had an ease with one another as they chatted about fiancés and boyfriends, a promotion, a funny story from spin class.
It made Lola’s life feel so remote it barely existed, like she was nothing but a song on the radio or an image on a glossy magazine page.
She felt either invisible or like the most obvious thing in the room.
It was high school all over again: she was still the weird one, tolerated but not accepted, and certainly not understood.
Or maybe she was tense because when Claudia had gotten engaged, a year and a half ago, Lola hadn’t expected to be at this wedding alone. Instead, she’d just marked her own anniversary: one year since the worst breakup of her life.
Lola inhaled deeply and forced her smile wider. Her cheeks were starting to get sore.
Her phone vibrated again as the girls broke into peals of laughter at something Lola had missed, and she felt herself give way. Her phone in one hand, she maneuvered toward the door. She’d just step out and re-center herself while she called Gloriana back. But her path took her right by Claudia.
Claudia, lipstick-smudged tissue in hand, said, “Where are you going?”
“I need to make a quick call,” Lola answered lightly.
“Seriously?”
“Let your sister do her business!” Their mom snatched the tissue from Claudia, then said to Lola, “Go on, baby, take care of it.”
Donna Grigorian never had, and probably never would, stand in the way of Lola working. It wasn’t her permission Lola needed.
“I’ll be so quick, Claudia. Gloriana’s calling and it’s better that I talk to her now than later, right?” Lola was gripping her phone so hard, she wondered if it was possible for the screen to pop off. “I’m sorry. I asked for no calls today, but—”
“But she ignored you?” Claudia frowned. She had double the normal big sister’s allotment of protective instinct, to make up for what their mom lacked. Even after ten years, she didn’t quite trust Gloriana. “You let her push you around.”
“I do not,” Lola said, forcing herself to smile.
“You do . You say you’re standing up for yourself, then you cave and end up with that look on your face.”
“You mean smiling because I’m happy ?”
Claudia gave her a sisterly side-eye that communicated more judgment than the notoriously awful British tabloid industry. “Whatever. Go talk to her.”
“Thank you. And stop messing with your lipstick. It’s perfect.”
Claudia pouted at her. “Really?”
“Red carpet ready.” Lola pushed open the door. “I’ll be right back. I swear.”
In the empty hall, the jittery feeling remained.
It wasn’t fair that Claudia could make Lola feel bad about working, when Claudia knew exactly how hard Lola had fought for her dream.
That dream had bought a house for their parents, and for both sets of grandparents too.
It had paid for almost the whole wedding, from Claudia’s custom wedding dress to the beautiful florals to the open bar with signature cocktails.
When Lola was starting her singing career, she had imagined that, at some point, she’d reach a level of success and know that she was safe.
She’d never gotten there—or hadn’t yet. Four albums she’d written herself, seven number ones, world tours, dozens of awards and nominations, and everything still felt like it would slip out from under her with one wrong move.
As long as it felt that way, Lola couldn’t ignore calls or skip meetings or let herself relax.
Lola FaceTimed her manager. As she waited for Gloriana to answer, Lola watched the video of herself.
She was wearing her tried-and-true Lola Gray smile, her eyes crinkled so it looked authentic.
The smile was an old habit she’d had since her first meeting with an agent at twelve years old.
He’d asked her to smile and she’d given him the enormous grin she’d learned doing pageants.
He’d shaken his head and said he wanted her real smile.
It felt unfamiliar, and a little exciting, to be asked to be herself.
But her real smile hadn’t satisfied him either.
He passed on representing her and recommended that she practice looking convincingly happy in a mirror.
Gloriana appeared, with the signature gray streak in her dark hair. “Hi, honey, how’s the wedding?”
Lola swallowed her annoyance that Gloriana knew exactly what she was taking Lola away from. After all, Lola had called her .
“It’s about to start. I did ask for no calls today.”
“I know, but the world doesn’t stop for your sister’s wedding. Do you want me to tell the team that we’ve got to pause because you’re busy? I’ll do it, but I’m not sure how they’ll react.”
“No, I just mean for next time, no calls means no calls.”
Gloriana ran through a list of things Lola needed to approve, emails she’d missed, plans Gloriana needed a yes on—all of it using the pronoun we.
We need an okay; we’re ready to move ahead.
Lola had to remind herself sometimes that she was part of the we .
The we was her team, who worked their asses off for her.
The team were the spokes on a wheel that she held the center of, even when she felt more like dead weight dragging behind them.
“We’re waiting for your sign-off on the shoot schedule for the documentary,” Gloriana said. “We really need to get things moving.”
Lola’s stomach clenched, the same way it had the first moment her team had pitched the project.
It was going on three years since Lola’s last album.
Fans knew she was taking some time off after churning out four albums by the time she was twenty-four, but to the general public, she was slipping out of the spotlight.
It was time to remind the world who Lola Gray was—with a documentary that followed the production of Album 5.
Plus, they’d make good money on it. All Lola had to do was let cameras follow her around for a few months.
The instant they’d suggested it, Lola’s guts had clamped down like the gate of a castle slamming shut.
She was generous with her fans and obliged the paparazzi and gave Vogue a tour of her renovated place in the Hills before she’d had a chance to sleep there herself.
She had almost no privacy already—not only because of her fans and the press, but also because of the vast team of people that kept Lola Gray Inc. a smoothly functioning machine.
But she’d agreed to the film anyway. That was her rule: say yes whenever you can, because you never knew when you’d stop being asked.
As much as she was dreading the film, the possibility of her fans forgetting her, of her career slipping away, was worse.
Of course, when she’d agreed months ago, she’d had no idea that the next album would still be looming over her as dark and troubled as a thunderhead.
“I’m sure whatever you planned is fine,” Lola said. “I don’t need to see it.”
“Fantastic,” Gloriana said.
Just then, the door to the venue swung open and a woman in a black jumpsuit strode through.
She had olive skin and a messy, overgrown pixie cut bleached platinum, but dark at the roots.
Her lips were painted red and unsmiling, her jawline sharp.
Lola’s eyes followed as the woman stalked into the hall, noting how the cut of the outfit showed off her strong shoulders, one marked with a collection of tattoos, and how the fabric clung to her curves.
Lola hadn’t seen her in years, but she recognized her in an instant.
Renee Feldman.
“Oh no,” Lola whispered involuntarily.
“What is it?” Gloriana said.
“Nothing,” Lola mumbled. “We’re lining up. I have to go.”