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“He’s not leaving you,” Veronica said with a heavy sigh, and it struck Lola that Veronica sounded like she was talking to a petulant baby. “You’re just on pause.”

“Wait,” Lola said, the walls closing in on her. “You knew about this?”

Ryan covered his face with his hands.

“Look, Lola,” Veronica said. It sounded like she was walking. Where could she possibly be going? What could she be doing that was more important than talking to Lola about the death of her career? “You know I love you, but the fact of the matter is—”

Lola cut her off. “Not you too?Veronica!We took mushrooms together at Carolina Herrera Fall/Winter twenty-two! Did it mean nothing to you?”

Ryan stifled a laugh. Lola hit him with her pillow.

“Lola,” Veronica said in that same patronizing tone. “You’re still my favorite client. We’re still friends. I just can’t ethically take your money if there isn’t going to be work.”

Veronica’s retainer was $10k per month.

This fucking bitch, Lola thought. And then it hit her.

“It’s your fault that all this happened,” Lola said, her voice rising. “You were the one who wanted me to do an interview with ARC.You.Not me. You set this whole thing up. And now you’re abandoning me?”

“It was worth a shot,” Veronica said, so matter-of-fact that Lola thought she might barf. There was no apology, no remorse, no taking accountability.

“You know what?” Lola said. “You can’t put me on pause if you’re fired.”

Veronica sighed. “That’s really what you want to do?”

“You’re the worst publicistever,” Lola said. “I’m better off without you.”

“If that’s your final decision,” Veronica replied, and from the way she said it, Lola could tell she was relieved. Lola understood: no one would want to represent her in this state. She had nothing to offer anyone. She hung up the phone and curled into the fetal position.

“Welcome to my flop era,” she whispered.

Ryan started to pet her greasy hair but quickly pulled his hand away,barely hiding his disgust. “Babes,” he said. He was so drunk now that his words were slurring. “I have to oversee a gallery opening.”

“Now?” she wailed. “You have to leave menow?”

“You know I would never leave you. But it’s a client. It’s for work. I gotta go.”

She buried her face in the pillow.

“Maybe you could try showering while I’m gone,” he gently suggested.

“There’s no point,” she said.

“Call me if you need me,” he said.

“I do need you,” she whispered, but he was already gone.

***

It was almost noon when Lola woke up to the sounds of Justin finally getting home from LA: the front door opening and then his suitcase rolling across the floor. In the night, she had pulled all the white Parachute sheets tightly around herself, trying to mummify.

He stood in the doorway, sweat glistening on his skin. “Hi, babe,” he said. “I’m here. I’m so sorry I’ve been gone.” His face was full of concern. Then he noticed the state of the room. “Jesus Christ.” He whistled, looking at the nest of garbage around the bed. “Lola, are you okay? I tried calling you so many times. Why didn’t you pick up? Have you just been here”—he gestured at her mess—“likethis, this whole time?”

“Everyone dropped me,” she wailed. “Todd, Veronica, everyone.”

His mouth hung open. “Babe, what?” He perched on the edge of the bed. “Sorry, I’d come closer, but I don’t want to get my airplane clothes on the sheets.”

She rolled her eyes so hard she nearly saw stars, and then she toldhim about the phone calls, about Shopbop, about firing Veronica. This was not how she wanted to greet him after he’d been gone for a week. She wanted to leap into his arms and sob into his collarbone. But that kind of affection was reserved for someone who was worth loving. And she didn’t feel worth loving, not anymore.