Chapter 5 #2
“What if I can find an alternative?”
“This isn’t the time for fun and games. If we miss this deadline, we’re liable. You could end up owing Streamy a lot of money.”
“Give me until the end of the week,” Lola said. “If I can’t find another director, we’ll go with Chess.”
***
“You want me to what ?” Renee bolted upright in bed and almost dropped her phone. The room was dim, the shades down against the noon sun.
Renee had spent the week since receiving Dragan’s email simultaneously marathoning Gilmore Girls on her laptop and playing a match-three game on her phone.
She’d completed six seasons and 187 levels so far.
She was about to connect four sapphires for another win when she accidentally answered a call from an unknown number.
She had not expected Lola on the other end—how did she even get Renee’s number? —asking something completely absurd.
“I’m FaceTiming you,” Lola said.
“No, I’m—” Renee slapped her laptop closed and yanked up the shades just in time to see Lola’s heart-shaped face appear, curtain bangs framing those huge eyes.
“Were you asleep?” Lola asked.
“No! I—I just got back from the gym.” Renee ran a hand through her hair, which only made it stick up at odd angles. “Say again what you’re asking me to do.”
“We’re making a documentary to tie in with my next album. Interviews, some backstage footage, following me around—that kind of thing. The financing is set and Streamy is distributing it, but we need a director.”
“You want suggestions? Look, if you miss me that much, you don’t need a reason to call.”
Lola’s eyes flashed. “I didn’t—no, Renee, I want you to do it.”
“Very funny,” said Renee, who did not actually find it very funny. Her face stiffened into an expression halfway between a dismissive laugh and something alarmingly like fear.
Lola remained serious. “I need a director; you’re a director. You said you went to film school for documentaries.”
“I’m still in film school.” For now. “That doesn’t mean I’m a director.”
“Is there some certification process, like you have to get a license to be a real director?” Lola asked. “Or can you just, you know, direct this film?”
Lola was right. On a technical level, Renee could do it—probably, with a life-threatening amount of stress. But she couldn’t actually do it.
Could she?
Renee’s heart lurched. For an instant, she saw it all clearly: the title card showcased on the Streamy app, The Real Lola Gray—Directed by Renee Feldman.
Her work and name beamed out to millions of viewers around the world.
It was the kind of project that directors worked their whole careers for.
But just as quick, acid was eating away at the edges of that vision.
Millions of viewers meant millions of critics, reviewers digging into her, plummeting Rotten Tomatoes ratings, her classmates and MFA faculty and everyone on earth judging every frame.
She’d barely managed to piece together her term projects before she’d taken leave. There was no way she could handle this.
“I’m not the person you’re looking for,” she said around the lump in her throat.
“This is a huge opportunity. I thought you’d be excited.”
“I don’t need any favors from you, Lo.”
“I’m not trying to do you any.” Lola’s eyebrows tightened. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you weren’t my first choice. I’ve been calling people for days.”
Renee intended to hang up—to have already hung up—but curiosity got the best of her. “Why?”
Lola huffed out a breath. “My team hired a director who’s totally off base. I just found out, but production’s down to the wire. If I can’t find someone else, I’ll have to work with him.”
“Who?”
“Chess Waterston.”
Renee’s mouth dropped open. “But he sucks! My friend Kadijah made me watch that documentary he did about Tatiana What’s-Her-Name, and it was just so … uncomfortable.”
“I know!” Lola brightened as she leaned closer to the camera. Renee was suddenly glad that Lola had insisted on a video call. “Of course, we’ll take care of the equipment and crew, and you’ll get paid.”
A paycheck that would make a real dent in her debt.
“The only thing is,” Lola added, “shooting starts next week.”
“ Lo! ”
“Streamy wants a cut by March.”
“March? It’s almost August!”
“That’s why I’m desperate! You are literally my last hope.”
“Wow, thanks for keeping me humble.”
“Don’t roll your eyes. This could launch your career.”
“I’ll think about it,” Renee said.
“Thank you.” Lola sighed with relief. “Don’t think too long. I need an answer by tomorrow. And Renee? This is strictly professional. It’s not—”
“Right, no, yeah!” Renee hurried to agree. “Exclusively professional.”
R ENEE WALKED INTO Zumba to find her mother running through her stretches.
Deborah went to classes at the Fellows Community Center religiously.
Renee preferred almost any other activity to cardio-dance set to a reggaeton beat, but Deborah paid for a monthly gym membership for Renee specifically so they could attend this class together.
She hadn’t made a secret of the fact that she hoped Renee would spin that membership into her own gym-going routine, which would ultimately turn her whole life around.
Deborah knew something about turning her life around.
Renee had always admired the way that her mother, abruptly thrust into single-parenthood, had worked her way up to principal of a local elementary school.
But Deborah had never understood why Renee couldn’t just make films , if that’s what she wanted to do.
A few months off from school was one thing, in Deborah’s mind, but a year of waffling was something else.
Also, Deborah loved the Grigorian girls, so when Renee told her about Lola’s offer, her reaction was predictable.
“How sweet! Lola’s helping you get back on track,” Deborah said.
Renee yanked the knot in her shoelace tight. “Actually, I’d be doing her a favor. She said that. She needs a director, and I’m a director.”
“Okay, sweetie,” Deborah said, in a tone that meant she didn’t believe that any more than Renee did. “It’s wonderful that you’re going to help Lola.”
“I don’t think I’m going to do it,” Renee said, getting to her feet. “It’s not the right move for me.”
“Oh, Renee, really? At some point, you have to push yourself forward. If you keep waiting for everything to come together perfectly, you’ll end up stuck.”
“I’m not stuck,” said Renee, who was stuck. “I’m just not ready for a job like this.”
“Well, life’s like that sometimes, isn’t it? We’re not always ready for what it throws at us, but there we are.” Deborah pulled one arm across her body to stretch her shoulder. “You girls always had a connection. That’s got to count for something when you’re making a movie about someone.”
Renee hadn’t considered that. She knew Lola better than any other director would—certainly better than Chess Waterston.
But on the other hand, Renee didn’t know Lola, not anymore.
She still couldn’t square that smiling, stage-ready version of Lola with the woman who’d brought her back to her hotel room and kissed her like her life depended on it.
Renee was beginning to understand why Kadijah and Zane were obsessed with Lola Gray.
There was the squeaky-clean girl photographed on the red carpet beside her equally squeaky-clean actor-boyfriend, and then there was the woman caught sneaking out of Ava Andreesen’s house with what looked like a hickey, if you zoomed in and squinted. Which was the real Lola Gray?
“What did your dean say?” Deborah asked.
“I can’t tell him about this!” Renee scoffed. “Dragan Kapi? has shown his work at Cannes . He was almost nominated for an Oscar . I’m not going to impress him with a movie about the teen queen of Michigan.”
This had no impact on Deborah whatsoever. “You should ask if you could use this as your thesis project. The timeline is perfect, isn’t it?”
“The timeline is ridiculous ! My thesis only has to be thirty minutes, and I’m stressed enough about finishing that by May. This is a full-length feature due in March . That’s only eight months!”
Deborah’s hands were on her hips. “But wouldn’t it be nice to be done ? Dave and I want to take a trip to New York for your graduation.”
The instructor took her place at the front of the class, so Deborah and Renee moved to their spots. Renee was in no mood for a fitness dance party, but at least it would end this conversation. Because unfortunately, Deborah’s idea made some sense.
“I’ll talk to Dragan,” Renee conceded as a reggaeton beat filled the air. “But this is so far below his taste level, he’ll never approve it.”
“P HENOMENAL! ” D RAGAN SAID over Zoom. He was wearing a Western shirt embroidered with blue roses, and glasses with matching blue frames. “I love it!”
“You do?” Renee said. “But it’s so commercial .”
“Film is an expensive art. A true filmmaker finds a way to put his artistic stamp on any project.”
Renee was shocked. Dragan could discourse indefinitely about nonfiction film as the art of knowledge, or interleaving visual story with conceptual purpose, or cinepoetics, but she had never heard him admit that films had budgets.
“To stand as your thesis project, this film must go beyond simply showing this Lola person singing songs. It must have real cinematic value. A story, with purpose, yes?”
“Yes,” Renee said.
“You’ll check in with me every few weeks.”
“ You’ll be my advisor? For real? I mean, thanks—I mean, I’m not sure I’m doing it.”
Dragan squinted at her. Renee felt like a bug caught under a magnifying glass. “Why wouldn’t you?”
Renee wanted to explain that it was terrifying, that she couldn’t conceive of a scenario where this didn’t end disastrously.
But she couldn’t say that. Dragan had only ever treated her as a problem to get off his desk, and now he wanted to take her under his wing. Renee recognized a last chance when she saw it.
Spending a few months with Lola might not be that bad.
It might even be kind of nice.