Chapter 40
L ola adjusted her glasses in the Zoom video of herself. There were still a few minutes before Zoe Mitchell joined for her interview, and Lola was nervous.
She realized she’d misplaced her copy of Zoe’s resume.
Her desk was a mess. The overly designed office she’d once hated had become a command center in the frenetic last few weeks.
An extra workstation had been added for Cassidy, and a whiteboard, scribbled with multicolored to-do lists.
The designer chairs were stacked with books on queer liberation and nonprofit management and community organizing, with dog-eared pages and sticky notes marking important passages.
A Progress Pride flag was tacked up on the wall.
Lola dug through a folder, yanked out the highlighter-covered resume, and reviewed it, as if she hadn’t already memorized it.
Zoe Mitchell had a master of public administration and ten years of experience at the Houston LGBTQ+ Center.
She’d testified before government commissions and organized marches and lobbied against anti-trans bills.
On top of all her qualifications, as a trans woman of color, she’d bring perspective and experience to the Star Sign Foundation that Lola could not.
The Star Sign Foundation.
The project was still so new that even thinking the name sent Lola’s stomach fluttering.
That moment on the plane a few weeks ago had galvanized something in Lola.
It was suddenly crystal clear that she had the means to make a difference in people’s lives—she’d just been blinded by her own problems. She threw herself into learning—meeting with experts and activists, reading more than she ever had—to figure out how she could best serve the queer community, what was most needed, what voices to listen to and elevate.
She’d known the contours of major issues, like violence against trans women, the specific issues faced by queer people of color, the continued lack of legal protections, and the fight to protect trans kids, but now she couldn’t believe how superficial she’d allowed her concern to be.
This time, she wouldn’t be satisfied by writing a check and attending a gala.
Still, she couldn’t do it all on her own—and it wouldn’t have been right to.
Lola knew she was a wealthy, white cis woman who passed for straight so easily she’d done it with the eyes of the world on her for a decade.
Also, she was a professional pop star who might know the first thing about running a foundation, but not the second or third. She needed help.
A Black woman with honey-colored hair in glossy waves appeared on the screen.
Lola’s face lit up. “Zoe! I’m Lola. Thank you so much for meeting with me.”
“I’m excited to hear more about this undertaking.” Zoe smiled politely, but she didn’t look starstruck or overeager. If anything, she looked skeptical. That was good.
“It’s still in the early stages, but I’ll take you through what I’ve planned so far.”
Lola explained that she’d earmarked $15 million of her own money and a percentage of her income off the next album in perpetuity for Star Sign.
The goal was to supplement those funds with donations from her famous connections.
She’d tie Star Sign into every promotion she did for her own work, giving it the kind of attention nonprofits dreamed of.
While Lola handled fundraising, Zoe—if she took the job—would oversee programming.
So far, Lola decided that the foundation would take a three-pronged approach to supporting the queer community: micro-grants for things like name changes, medical expenses, and emergencies; a legal defense fund; and political lobbying to advocate for legal protections.
There was so much still to do, Lola warned.
They needed a board and a charter, real office space, employees.
Right now, all they had was a web domain.
But Lola would do anything to make this work.
“It’s ambitious,” Zoe said. “I’ll admit, I’m intrigued. You don’t often get the chance to build something from the ground up. But I have to ask why you’re doing this.”
Lola hesitated. She hadn’t asked Zoe to sign an NDA. If Lola wanted to work with Zoe, she would have to trust her. And if she wanted to come out, she’d have to get used to, well, coming out.
“I’m queer myself,” she said. “That’s not public knowledge at the moment. Recently, it really clicked for me that I’d been so focused on what coming out means for me personally that I never really considered what it could mean to others. What I could do for others.”
“Coming out is personal,” Zoe offered. “Everyone handles it differently.”
Lola smiled graciously. “Thank you for saying that, but for someone in my position, it’s not just personal.
I have the power to make a difference. I know that representation matters, but I want to do more than, you know, prove that a pop star can be bisexual.
I want to actually help people.” She adjusted her glasses again, trying to ignore her nerves.
“I’m planning to come out soon. I’m trying to find the perfect time.
Coordinating it with the launch of the foundation and my new album would really maximize the impact. ”
Zoe’s brow dipped. “People might say you’re doing it for attention. For profit.”
“To some extent, they’d be right,” Lola conceded.
“But the money and attention are going to a good cause. Look, I’ve taken a lot of criticism in my career.
I’ve realized that I simply can’t please everyone.
People will complain that I didn’t come out sooner, and some will be upset that I came out at all.
They’ll criticize me for having too much privilege, even when I’m trying to use it to make a difference, or say that it’s too little too late.
But I’d rather try too hard to help my community than not try at all. ”
Zoe regarded her, unsmiling. Lola’s shoulders drooped as the adrenaline of her little speech ebbed. If Zoe didn’t want to join her, she’d find someone else. She wouldn’t stop. She’d find a way.
Then Zoe nodded, her hair bouncing. “Okay, let’s see what we can do together.”
Lola found herself babbling with excitement but promised to send over the offer letter that same day.
When she closed Zoom, her email was open behind it.
Lola’s breath caught. There was a message from Renee.
The text was short enough that she could read the whole thing in the preview.
Lo, This is just for us. I couldn’t help myself. x Renee
She didn’t know what to make of that, but then she saw there was an attachment.
A video.
She opened it. The screen was black at first and then filled with the opening notes of “Starcrossed.” Lola held her breath, her teeth tight against her lip as an image of herself appeared on the screen.
She was on the beach on Lake Michigan, with her glasses and that windbreaker on, her hair tangling in the wind.
The song played as she reached for the camera and then there was Renee—Lola’s stomach lurched.
Renee looked beautiful, her strong jaw, her messy bleached hair wild in the wind too, her eyes not on the camera, but fixed on Lola behind it.
Lola had missed the effect Renee’s face had on her—a kind of hunger, insatiable, like Renee was always exactly what she needed.
Renee stepped out of frame, and Lola remembered what was coming before she saw it.
She flipped the camera around to film them both, Renee’s cheek pressed to Lola’s temple, her arms circling Lola’s middle and holding her tight.
They’d been together for two days at that point, and Lola had never seen two people who looked more in love.
Renee had found actual footage of the moments Lola sang about. Renee wearing Lola’s shirt on set as she rubbed her shoulders that first day. The pair of them goofy and laughing in her studio, belting out the 4 Non Blondes. Kissing on the couch after Lola had played “Starcrossed” for her.
It was a collection of perfect, private moments, set to the music written for them.
Lola smiled to herself at the second half of Renee’s message: I couldn’t help myself.
Of course she couldn’t. Renee couldn’t stop making films any more than Lola could leave behind songwriting.
Watching Renee’s work, now, Lola wished not only that Renee had stayed, but that she’d never stopped filming.
In some ways, over these last few weeks, she’d been living out the story that Renee had always wanted to tell.
A story Renee had believed Lola was capable of living.
Something locked into place—Lola did know what was right for herself, that she deserved to be happy. She understood now that it wasn’t Gloriana, or Ava, or anyone else preventing her from having that. Lola had to be brave enough to make those choices for herself.
She was ready to do that.
Renee had a lot of reasons to be angry at Lola.
Lola had lied to her repeatedly about talking to Gloriana.
She’d repressed her own fears about coming out, until she’d caved when Gloriana applied the right pressure, although she knew it would hurt the person she loved most. Renee had gotten too invested in making Lola’s story her thesis, and she’d made a serious error in judgment when she’d gone to talk to Ava—but none of it felt malicious now.
Lola wanted to apologize.
More than that, she wanted Renee back.
***
Renee was alone for closing at Prince’s, wiping down the counter, when she spotted the Lo-Lite on the sidewalk.
Who else would film themselves outside a not-particularly-charming coffee shop during a February cold snap?
The weather had scared off all the customers, and Renee had been hoping to get away early.
She didn’t look up as the door swung open, but instead concentrated on praying this person did not ask about Lola Gray.
“Heads up, we’re closing in five,” Renee said.
“Okay.”