Chapter 21
A s Lola drove away from Renee’s hotel, her lips were a little swollen from their goodbye.
They’d restrained themselves in front of Lola’s driver, because NDA or not, no one should have to sit through excessive PDA.
Alone now in the back of the SUV, Lola pulled her legs up to her chest. She waited for that familiar ache to announce itself—the feeling that she’d been ripped away from something warm and wonderful and might be left cold forever.
That was how she’d felt after her weekends with Ava: still famished for affection, fearful that she’d never have it again, ashamed at being so needy.
But as they glided off the highway, the ache hadn’t come. She felt hungry for Renee, still, but there was none of that fear that this would be the last time. She knew it wouldn’t be.
The driver navigated the tight turns that led up the hill to Lola’s home, and Lola realized that she felt something else, something she hadn’t felt in a long time.
Lola left her bags by the door. The house felt big and empty—she’d asked Cassidy to make sure no one was there when she returned. She went directly to her studio, grabbed a notebook, and began to write.
H OURS LATER , L OLA ’ S brain felt wrung out, and her body sore from sitting so long.
Dazed, she was surprised to see that it was already dark.
She could not remember when she had last eaten.
She should have been exhausted from traveling, from writing so much, so fast—one song ready for Ackerlund, and the foundations of two more.
But she wasn’t tired. She would crash soon—but not yet.
Come over? she texted.
Thought you’d never ask , Renee replied.
“W E CAN ’ T HAVE you taking off like that. You had everyone scrambling. Poor Cassidy nearly had a panic attack, Micah’s hysterical about getting off schedule, and I don’t know where to start with the fallout from the premiere.” Gloriana’s face glowed on Lola’s phone.
Lola groaned internally. “The premiere was a week ago. I’m sure no one’s talking about it anymore.”
“They are, Lola. They’re saying that you saw Ava, so you abandoned your boyfriend on the most important night of his career.”
“The premiere of Fit to Live was not the most important night of Nash’s career.”
“ That’s what you choose to respond to?”
Lola imagined the #LavaTruthers filming their TikToks, gleefully pinning new evidence to their conspiracy theory boards.
Usually, such thoughts made her feel like her insides had been scooped out with a melon baller and plopped in wet red orbs on the floor.
But now, she reached for that feeling, and it wasn’t there.
The story the #LavaTruthers were weaving was none of her business anymore. Maybe it never had been.
“What do you want me to say?” Lola countered. “I did see Ava, and I did get upset. You should have warned me that she’d be there.”
“It was an oversight, and I apologize for that. But you have a job to do. You can’t run off like a scared little girl whenever you see her.”
Lola ignored how the accuracy of Gloriana’s description stung. Instead, she remembered how liberating it had felt when Renee gave her permission to leave the premiere. Renee and Claudia were right; Lola needed to push back on Gloriana more. She tried to borrow a bit of Renee’s self-assurance.
“I needed a break, and I took one. The press thinks I had Covid, and Cassidy knew where I was the whole time. It’s not like I was on some kind of drug spree. I was watching movies with Renee.”
Gloriana’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly at Renee’s name. “So busy watching movies with Renee that you ignored your calls and texts for five days.”
“There was no reception.”
“Or internet? People send emails from the top of Mount Everest, Lola. I’m sure that technology has made it to Michigan. You’ve taken plenty of time off in the last year, and you’ve always stayed available.”
Lola pressed her lips into a flat line. Gloriana knew that Lola hadn’t spent her recent time off doing anything that might have counted as rest and relaxation. She’d spent it crying on the couch or staring at the ceiling over her bed.
“I’m sorry you’re mad,” she said, in a self-assured tone that Lola imagined Renee would use.
“I’m not mad, Lola.” Gloriana shook her head. “What I am is disappointed.”
The words curled sickly in Lola’s gut. It had always been easy to see Gloriana as the figure that Lola’s real mother had never managed to be.
When Gloriana had signed Lola as a client at the age of sixteen, Lola’s mother had been pushing her into any opportunity with a paycheck attached.
It was Gloriana who introduced the concept of making choices that prioritized career longevity, who’d given Lola the strength to stand up to her mother’s self-serving demands to be part of her fame.
Her whole career, Gloriana had been her bedrock.
Lola had always been grateful for that, even if now, she felt like a child about to be sent to her room.
“We checked in with Nash’s people,” Gloriana went on. “We want to get the two of you together again to smooth this over. This week, before he goes back to Montana.”
The idea of pretending to be in love with Nash now sent a shiver of revulsion through Lola’s body. Nash knew why she’d ditched the premiere—she’d texted him while they were still driving away. He’d be ecstatic about her and Renee. But Lola had bigger concerns than holding hands with him in public.
“No,” she said.
“No? What do you mean, no?”
“I mean, I’m not going to do any more appearances with Nash.
” Part of Lola was frightened of Gloriana’s reaction, but another, unexpected part felt righteous.
Maybe she should say no more often. “I need my calendar cleared for the next few weeks. Cancel anything that’s not essential.
I’ve asked Renee to update the shooting schedule. ”
“What?”
“I’m focusing on the album. I already booked time with Ackerlund.”
“Oh. Well. Fantastic.” Gloriana added a congenial smile, as if they’d never disagreed at all.
As Gloriana agreed to her demands, Lola felt like a superhero transforming into her most elite form, power coursing through her veins.
When the call ended, Lola found Renee in the kitchen.
She pushed her up against the cabinets and kissed her, hard.
Then she pulled Renee’s shorts off, hooked her thigh over her shoulder, and tasted her until she came.
“What do you want now?” Renee asked, catching her breath. Lola wiped her lips against the back of her hand.
“I want to work,” she said.
“Can I watch?”
Lola went to her studio and picked up her guitar.
Renee picked up her camera.
***
Renee stood beside Alejandro, recording Lola and Ackerlund working out a bridge. “More, ah-nuh, uh-huh ,” Ackerlund said. Renee had no idea what he meant but Lola sang something different. Renee wasn’t sure how, but it sounded better.
“Then drums,” she said, snapping her fingers.
Ackerlund tapped something out on an electronic pad. Lola bobbed her head to the new beat, then grunted her approval.
Renee grinned behind the camera.
It was mid-October. In the two weeks since Michigan, Lola had been on a tear.
Her writer’s block had crumbled to reveal a trove of all the creative energy that she hadn’t accessed for more than a year.
It was inspiring to see how fast things could change—and how Lola had changed with it.
She was more assertive than Renee had ever seen her, as if she’d redirected the energy she usually put into being Lola Gray to the part of her brain that churned out pop hits.
She was writing all the time, scribbling on scraps for her scrap folder, muttering into her voice memos.
She would mentally disappear in the middle of a conversation over dinner, or crawl out of bed as Renee was drifting off.
Renee would wake late at night to drag Lola out of the studio, lecturing her about the value of sleep.
Renee hadn’t slept at the hotel since Michigan.
The original shoot schedule was history.
Renee had pared down the crew to just herself and Alejandro on sound whenever possible.
They’d left the biggest points—the breakup with Nash, a trip to New York, the sponsored placements that couldn’t be cut—but dropped everything staged.
Gloriana hadn’t been pleased, but Lola had stood up to her, insisting that they follow Renee’s schedule, which accommodated her creative process, or they could pause filming until the album was done.
The new arrangement made the relationship simple to hide. As Lola’s documentarian, Renee was entitled to access, so she followed Lola everywhere.
Privately, it felt like they were locked in feverish competition for who could want the other more. Coming home from the studio, there were days they barely made it to the bedroom, leaving a trail of shed clothes on the stairs and through the hallway.
The relationship was far more serious than anything Renee had experienced before.
To Renee’s surprise, that felt good. Lola would say something like, What if we went back to the lake house every year?
And Renee, who had kicked girls out of bed for suggesting brunch the morning after, found herself answering, But for our first anniversary, maybe somewhere special, like Iceland?
Renee had always assumed she’d never fall in love. She had never bothered to learn the signs.
She missed the falling part entirely.
Now, Lola and Ackerlund went through the lyrics again.
“Too busy watching the stars, I didn’t see you watching me.”
Renee bit her cheek to keep from smiling.
This song, “Starcrossed,” was about trying so hard to resist your feelings that you couldn’t see what was right in front of you—until suddenly, you did.
The lyrics were a collection of the traces Renee had left on Lola’s life in the last few months, built around the melody she’d made up at the lake house.
The song was different from Lola’s past work—more mature, unafraid, less romantic fairy tale, and more grounded.
It also sounded, to Renee’s ear at least, unmistakably queer.
She knew the lyrics were about a woman, but there was something in the tone of the song—the uncertainty that Lola could have what she wanted, the effort to resign herself to a crush—that felt distinctively sapphic.
She kept stealing glances at Ackerlund, wearing those tinted sunglasses, wondering if he understood.
Ackerlund’s head bobbed. “I like that little riff on the ‘Star Sign’ bridge. What was the original?”
“ You were watching the stars, but I was watching you. ” Lola’s cheeks pinked as her eyes darted to Renee’s.
“Then we go,” Ackerlund said, humming a little, “ Why did I wait so long to feel your arms around me? How long have we been in the middle of our love story? Let’s develop that more. You’ve been waiting for him, you’ve got him, what’s next?”
The male pronouns were a fishhook in Renee’s guts. Renee would have thought she was incapable of being shocked by heteronormativity, but it was outrageous that Ackerlund could be so oblivious to what was right in front of him. Could Ackerlund really believe that Lola had pined over Nash like this?
Lola wasn’t going to correct the pronoun Ackerlund had used, Renee knew that. There was no reason to announce that the song was actually about a woman right now. Even if that woman was standing right there.
But she couldn’t stop herself from hoping.
A crease appeared between Lola’s brows. She rubbed her palm against her forehead, scrubbing it away. “What about, This is so much better than my fantasy ?”