Page 2 of Hotter in the Hamptons

***

Aly was waiting for Lola at a table for two tucked into the corner of Evelina, an Italian bistro near Fort Greene Park, which was mostly empty but for a couple nuzzling into each other over coffees and the young, attractive waitstaff folding napkins and slicing citrus at the bar. The first hot day of the year would mean a horribly crowded happy hour, everyone dying for chilled orange wine and Blue Point oysters, and Lola was glad they were meeting in the morning, when they could have some semblance of privacy.

“Lola,” Aly said as Lola approached, standing up.

Lola gave herself a moment to take Aly in. She was the epitome of intellectual luxury in black linen pants that hung loosely on her lean frame, a perfectly cut black T-shirt, and black leather Celine loafers; her long, brown hair was pulled into a low ponytail with a nineties-inspired tortoise-shell claw clip—or, Lola thought, maybe the clip was actually vintage. Aly’s infamous Tom Ford aviator sunglasses were on the table next to a Moleskine notebook emblazoned with her initials and a recording device. A canvas Paris Review tote was slung over her chair.

Lola tried to swallow and found that her mouth had become dry. It was terribly intimidating, how beautiful she was in person. An off-duty Kristen Stewart, with longer hair, as charming as an A-list actress and as cool as… Lola actually couldn’t think of anyone who instantly appeared cooler. Aly was in her own league.

Lola’s stomach did a backflip as she realized how overdressed she was in her ruffled maxi dress. She wondered what Aly thought of her, if she found her aesthetic charming or cheesy. Smile , she told herself. Be likeable. At least she hadn’t changed into the heels.

“So nice to meet you,” Lola said, and she realized with a flash of embarrassment that she sounded breathless. She had no reason to be out of breath. She’d only walked about twenty feet from the car. Still, her heart was pounding as though she’d just run a mile (not that Lola was a runner—she hated nonessential cardio).

Aly was a couple of inches shorter than Lola, which wasn’t surprising. At five feet nine, Lola was used to being the tallest girl around. Aly was smaller in general too—while Lola had something of an Amazonian figure, Aly was slender and narrow.

Lola wasn’t sure why she was so fixated on the physical differences between them. She wasn’t usually one to compare herself to other women.

“Oh, we’ve met before,” Aly said, shaking her hand, her face neutral and unreadable.

“I’m so sorry, of course we have,” Lola said, trying to cover up the faux pas by lying. “I just didn’t think you would remember me.”

She quickly ran through all the possible places she could have met Aly, but there were too many to count. She wasn’t sure how it was possible that she could have forgotten, but then again, she was sometimes in a different mode, too distracted and in her head to catalog every introduction. She felt rising panic at the thought that Aly might already find her rude.

Aly simply raised one groomed eyebrow, a half smile flickering across her face. “Please, sit down. I have a cappuccino coming, but I wasn’t sure what you’d want.” There was something kind of old-school about that, about her order, about her. Like she was from another era.

“Oh, I’m good with water, thank you.” Lola was too nervous to eat. To compensate, she concentrated on switching over into Professional Influencer Mode, taking a breath to shake away her nerves. She sat up straighter, batted her eyelashes. She prepared to be fun and funny and nice—nothing more, nothing less. It was the persona her team knew well, the one her brand clients loved. It had never let her down before.

“Thanks for coming to my neck of the woods,” Aly said.

“Oh, do you live around here? I love this neighborhood.”

Aly nodded. “Near the park.”

“How lovely,” Lola said. This neighborhood was all brownstones, trees, and charm. A different kind of New York. One more intimate and unique. Kind of perfect for the girl sitting before her. Lola, on the other hand, was made for Soho, the beautiful chaos of it, the luxury, the ongoing identity crisis.

They had both found their places, it seemed.

Lola couldn’t help but let her gaze skim over Aly again as she flipped open her notebook. Aly had soft brown eyes framed by dense, dark eyelashes. It didn’t look like she was wearing a drop of makeup across her high cheekbones and sharp jawline. She was gorgeous but in such an understated way, it struck Lola as distinctly unfair. She wondered if Aly even appreciated it or if her prettiness was a burden, if it prevented people from taking her seriously. And Aly seemed like the kind of person who wanted, if nothing else, to be seen as serious.

The wind blew in from the open French doors, and Lola was hit with a waft of something delicious she couldn’t place. “Oh my god, what is that smell?”

Aly blinked. “Hm?”

“You don’t smell that? It’s, like, woodsy but also citrusy? It smells like summer. Fuck, what is that?” Lola felt almost intoxicated by it, enough that her professional mask momentarily dropped.

Aly grinned sheepishly at her. “Oh, that’s probably just…me.”

Lola’s cheeks grew hot. “You have to tell me what perfume it is.”

“It’s called Molecule 01,” Aly said. “It’s supposed to blend with your natural scent or something.”

“Wow, you must have a great natural scent, then.”

“Thank you,” Aly said, avoiding her eyes.

Lola wanted to apologize, then start over, try to have better boundaries—or at least just not mention how good Aly smelled, for god’s sake. Could she sound any thirstier? Would Aly think she was flirting?

Was she flirting?

Still not looking at Lola, Aly turned her recorder on and flipped a page, tapping her ballpoint pen on a sheet filled with indecipherable scrawls.

“Whole milk cappuccino?” The server placed Aly’s drink in front of her, the foam cresting pleasantly over the edge of the white ceramic mug.

Lola fought the urge to take a photo of it. “Whole milk,” she remarked. “So classic.”

Finally, Aly looked at her, sending a little jolt through Lola’s whole body when their eyes met. “I tend to feel like the plant-milk situation has gotten out of hand. I mean, do we really need to be milking oats?”

Lola laughed. “I love oat milk.”

“Of course you do,” Aly said.

Lola didn’t how to take that.

They stared at each other for a few moments. Lola felt her heart skipping around in her chest. She wasn’t sure why she was freaking out so badly. She’d done plenty of press.

“So, Lola. This is a profile, okay? I want to get to know you.”

“Okay.” Lola smiled nervously. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

Aly laughed. “Sorry,” she said, and by the way she said it, Lola had the odd and surprising thought that Aly might actually be nervous too. But before she could consider this further, Aly said, in a voice so professional she sounded like she should be on the radio, “You were one of the first fashion bloggers to turn your Instagram account into a multimillion-dollar business. What made you want to become an influencer in the first place?”

Lola noted Aly’s tone shift with a small smile. We can both do that , she thought before reciting her own mantra: Pause. Breathe. You are Lola Likes. Act like it.

“Content creator,” Lola corrected and ignored Aly’s barely concealed eye roll. Her Professional Influencer Mode flipped back on. “It started in college. I got really into thrifting and repurposing clothes. I started buying used clothes and giving them a second life. I became kind of known for it. People would constantly stop me and ask about my outfits.” She paused, wondering if she was going too far back in her own lore, but Aly was listening and appeared to be rapt. “Then I met Ryan in class, and he convinced me to start a blog about it, which is how Lola Likes was born. I had a few series—Lola Likes, Lola Loves, Lola Hates— which were all pretty much what they sound like. Then I did Lola Loots, which were basically haul videos, and Lola Listens, where I answered questions. Eventually it made more sense to do all that on an Instagram account versus keeping the blog going. I think my first big tutorial to go viral was how to turn your Target T-shirt into the Row.”

Aly raised an eyebrow. “How do you turn a Target T-shirt into the Row?”

“You’ll just have to watch my video.” Lola winked, a little awkwardly. Her foot hit something soft under the table, and Aly flinched. “Oh, fuck, sorry. Did I just kick you?”

“You did,” Aly said, a flicker of humor in her eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” Lola groaned, her mind scrambling for the composure she had moments ago. “I don’t know where I begin and end sometimes.”

To her surprise, Aly laughed. She had a nice laugh, a warm sound deep from her belly. Lola liked the sound, but more than that, she liked knowing she had caused it. Like she was winning at some undefinable game.

“Go on, though,” Aly said. “You were telling me how you got your start.”

Lola moved her foot away from Aly, though under the small table, there were only a few inches between them. Maybe she was losing it, but she was almost certain she could feel heat radiating off Aly’s leg. She took a breath, struggling to find the thread of what she’d been saying. “Okay, yeah, anyway, things kind of took off from that first viral video.”

“Say more,” Aly urged. “What did it look like when it took off?”

“Well, I started getting invited to actual runway shows. I went from being a fashion outsider to someone who was welcomed on the inside. Then came the spon-con, the brand deals, and the real, actual income. I didn’t even have to get a full-time job when I graduated. Not that this isn’t a full-time job—it’s basically twenty-four seven, but you know what I mean. I was never a W-2 girlie or whatever. So to answer your question, I wouldn’t say I ever set out to be a content creator, but I had content I was creating, and people liked it, so…yeah. That’s how it happened.”

“A W-2 girlie,” Aly repeated and wrote something down in her notebook. “So now instead of telling people how to make things look like the Row, you’re just…” She paused, catching Lola’s eye. “Wearing the Row.”

Lola winced. “It sounds much less fun when you put it like that. But yeah. Now I get the Row for free.”

“So how would you describe your style now?”

“Bohemian chic,” Lola said, her stock answer.

“Yeah?” Aly said, not buying it. “What does that mean?”

“Um,” Lola said. She did not know how to answer. What was her style? What was the name of the style of Free Everything All the Time ? Beyond wearing the latest trends before their release, she didn’t know what made her style any different from anyone else’s. She gestured to her ruffly dress. “It means I look like this.”

Aly checked her notes, and Lola had the sudden sinking feeling that she had somehow disappointed her. She pasted on her most accessible smile as Aly looked back up. “Tell me about your personal life. The people you spend most of your time with. The person in the video with you—Ryan Anderson, the fashion publicist? That’s the Ryan you mentioned meeting in college?”

Lola nodded. “I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

“And your boyfriend?”

“Yeah, Justin,” she replied, though for some reason, it bothered her that Aly knew she had a boyfriend. “He’s a pediatric oncologist.”

“How’d you meet?”

“We went to high school together.”

This seemed to surprise her. “Really? You were high-school sweethearts?”

“Oh, no, no,” Lola corrected. “That’s how we first met. We reconnected when we were older.” She hesitated to tell Aly more. It didn’t seem relevant. And she didn’t want Aly to think of her as Lola-with-a-boyfriend. She wanted her to just think of her as Lola, her own person, not tied to a man.

“And I read he’s also on the board of USC’s Black Alumni Association,” Aly said.

Lola nodded. “He’s very involved. He mentors a bunch of college students, and he’s always helping organize fundraisers and whatnot.”

“Okay, perfect man. So how serious is it? Is he the one ?” There was something condescending about the question—as though the idea of soulmates was laughable to Aly—that Lola chose to ignore.

“We’re just enjoying each other for now,” Lola replied, terse. “I try not to overthink it.”

Aly seemed to accept this and moved on. “So what do you do for fun?”

“For fun,” Lola repeated, laughing.

She was having a hard time remembering; by documenting every moment of her life, she’d turned every waking second into a commodity. But damn if she was about to admit that to Aly.

“I go out, I guess. Ryan and I like to try the dirty martinis at different bars around the city.” She knew she was probably drinking too much these days, but she wasn’t sure what else people did when they went out at night.

Aly nodded. “Okay, tell me about your brand partnerships.”

“Which ones?”

“Whichever one you like the best.”

“Sorry, I probably can’t do that? Contractually, I can’t say I like one brand better than another. Pick one, and I’ll tell you about it.”

“Okay.” Aly nodded, checking her notebook. “Tell me about…Lola for Rêver.”

“Oh, yay, French robes.” Lola tried to sound more excited than she felt. “Washable silk. They made a custom pink just for me. They’re twenty percent off if you buy them through my link in my bio. I love them. They’re very popular.” Lola was not passionate about robes. But it was a lucrative deal and not a lot of work on her end.

Reading Lola’s mind, Aly tapped the edge of her pen. “How much of your income comes from brand partnerships at this point?”

“I mean, all of it?”

Aly made a note. “So what are you working toward?” she asked. “What’s your five-year plan?”

“Oh, I mean, I don’t know if I really have one.” Lola shrugged. “I can barely think about the next month, not to mention the next five years. Things have been moving so quickly for so long that I don’t really have time to plan. I just go with it.”

Aly considered this for a few beats, her pen still tapping on her notebook. “How do you decide who to work with? You’ve got your luxury robes for the stay-at-home audience, the aviator sunglasses for the cool girls, the vitamin-B supplements for the wellness junkies, the cowboy boots for the…well, I actually don’t know who is wearing cowboy boots right now. And that’s just last month. I’m trying to find some connecting thread in your clients, and I can’t really see one.”

Because there isn’t one , Lola wanted to say, heart thumping. Because I just say yes to everything my team tells me to. Because they want me to appeal to as many people as possible.

Instead, Lola said, “Look, I’m just trying to make a living like everyone else.” Aly’s questioning had pushed her into a rare moment of frankness, which was, perhaps, the point. She wasn’t sure she liked how it felt.

“Huh,” Aly said, her brow furrowed. She looked like she was dissecting something vital, trying to solve an impossible equation.

“What?”

“I mean, look.” She put the pen down and clasped her hands on the table. “I’m listening to you. I’m hearing your story. And it just kind of sounds like you’re not doing any of the things that you originally loved. You’re just getting free things and putting your name on products. You studied fashion, but you’re not really working in it.”

Lola’s stomach twisted into a knot. “Ouch,” she said, laughing but incredulous. “What the fuck, Carter?” Maybe it was too familiar, addressing her like this, but the criticism was so personal, she couldn’t help it.

“I don’t mean to be an asshole. It’s just, I don’t really think what you do counts as working in the fashion industry, you know? Unless you want to call it freelance marketing. Like, I asked you what made you want to be an influencer—sorry, content creator—and what you gave me was more of a how you got here, not why.”

Lola cringed. She didn’t have an answer to why . It had just happened. “Is there a question in there?”

“I’m sorry. Yes. I guess what I’m trying to ask you is: In a life of free stuff, how are you supposed to know what you really want?”

Lola’s heart sank. That was the question, wasn’t it?

She felt stripped bare by Aly’s read and was surprised to find herself fighting back tears.

But instead of showing how painfully real this all was, she shook her head and rolled her eyes, trying to project confidence—or at least attitude. “Wow, ARC. I guess this is why they pay you the big bucks, huh?” She was less than convincing, though. Her voice cracked and trembled as she spoke.

The truth was she had no idea what she really wanted. She just didn’t know anyone else could tell.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” Aly said and looked like she genuinely felt bad for pressing. “Just food for thought. You don’t have to answer that one.”

There was a long pause. Lola, still trying not to cry, pretended to examine her fingernails.

Aly offered a tentative “Are you okay?” before reaching a hand across the table and resting it on Lola’s forearm. She gave her a warm, little squeeze.

Lola looked up. Their eyes met, and for a brief moment, Aly’s face looked open, imploring. Like she was actually concerned that she’d hurt Lola’s feelings. Which she had, of course, but her soft hand on Lola’s arm was weirdly helping.

“I’m okay. Just feeling a little…naked,” Lola said, a weak smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Aly’s cheeks turned the color of a strawberry, and she pulled her hand back, as though suddenly aware that they were touching.

“I mean, not literally naked,” Lola corrected herself quickly. “Obviously. It’s a metaphor.” And then, in a moment she’d soon come to regret, she threw her hands up in the air, knocking her glass of water over on the table.

“Oh my god, fuck,” she yelped. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.”

Aly jumped to her feet as the ice-water tsunami spilled toward her, narrowly missing getting totally soaked. A waiter appeared with napkins, mopping up the table and Aly’s chair, and all the while, Lola held her hands over her mouth, wishing the ground would open and swallow her whole.

Aly sat back down, no longer blushing, a good-natured grin on her face. “Well, you didn’t have to throw your water at me about it,” she said, laughing.

Lola groaned. “I’m so sorry.” And then she added, with more than a little bit of sass, “But that’s what you get for reading me like that.”

“Fair enough,” Aly said, holding Lola’s eye contact.

Lola felt something loosen inside her. Yes, it had been a bitchy question to ask, but she wasn’t wrong to ask it. And she hadn’t been afraid to ask it either. No one in Lola’s life was that honest with her. Justin—and Ryan, for that matter—liked to couch feedback in flattery. Even though it hurt her feelings, she had to admit there was something deeply attractive about being called on her bullshit.

Actually, it was kind of hot. She crossed and uncrossed her legs, suddenly too aware of her own body, of Aly’s body on the other side of the table, and the distance between them. She wondered what else Aly might say to her, what else Aly could see.

They continued talking, and Lola pushed away the confusing swirl happening in her head. So what if Aly could see right through her? She was a journalist. That was her job. It didn’t mean that they understood each other in any sort of unique way. Unless…

Meanwhile, Aly asked Lola her thoughts on the latest runway shows, algorithm changes, and microtrends. Lola did her best to sound cute and interesting, though she had absolutely no idea if Aly was buying it anymore. She would have given anything for a chance to look at Aly’s notes.

The restaurant was slowly starting to fill up with people on their lunch break, which was how Lola realized that they’d been there for over an hour.

“How’d you get that scar?” Aly asked.

“Oh god, you can see it?” Lola was sure she’d covered it effectively.

“I’ve seen photos of you without lipstick on.” Aly said smiling patiently. “It kind of pulls your upper lip up a little? And makes your front teeth show.” She paused as though unsure whether to continue, and then she said, “It’s cute.”

“Oh, um, thank you,” Lola said, growing warm, the hairs on her arm standing up.

Aly had been looking at pictures of her. Lola wondered what Aly had thought, scrolling through her countless selfies. She wondered if Aly had a type.

It occurred to Lola suddenly that her hair was still in a topknot. So much for the nice blowout. She pulled it loose, and it fell softly in golden waves around her face, a few strands sticking to the sweat on her forehead. She noticed Aly’s eyes and self-consciously tucked it behind her ears.

“I was snowboarding,” she said. “In Big Bear, on a high school trip. I did a total face-plant and ruined my chances of making out with anyone.”

At this, Aly grinned. “I pegged you for more of a ski girl.”

“Please!” Lola cried. “I am a very cool snowboard chick, thank you very much.”

Aly laughed. “Okay, I can see it, I guess. Though for some reason, it’s easier to picture you drinking hot chocolate in the lodge. I’m seeing a cable-knit sweater, a fuzzy beanie, maybe some knee-high UGGs?”

“I do love an après-ski,” Lola admitted. “But my version is less J. Crew catalogue than you’re describing. I’m pretty chic after I shred a mountain.”

“You know what? I believe you,” Aly said. And then she grew serious again. “So speaking of which, the elephant in the room: let’s talk about lesbian chic.”

Lola nodded. Her team had prepared her for this, and she launched into the statement they’d rehearsed. “I’m so sorry to everyone I offended by appropriating a phrase from the queer community. I have a lot of queer people in my life who I love, and sometimes I forget that their words aren’t mine. I am constantly learning and growing, and I hope that people will give me the chance to do better.”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure. But how did it feel to get canceled like that?” Aly pressed.

“Horrible,” Lola whispered. She felt totally vulnerable under Aly’s piercing stare.

“I have to tell you,” Aly said, softening, as though she sensed how upset Lola was becoming. “I really didn’t think it was that big of a deal.”

“You didn’t?”

“No.” Aly laughed again, that warm, generous sound. “And I watched the video many times. It just seemed like you weren’t really thinking.”

Lola nodded vigorously. “Exactly. Exactly! ”

Aly continued, “I’m far more interested in the response to what you said than what you actually said. I mean, I’m not super online, so I feel like an anthropologist watching this unfold. They really wanted to burn you.”

Lola nodded, relieved to get sympathy. “They sure did. And like, I said the wrong thing. We all say the wrong things sometimes, you know? But it doesn’t mean I’m homophobic. I mean, the only porn I watch is girl on girl!”

Aly’s mouth fell open.

Lola wanted to die. She could not believe the words that had just come out of her.

She put her face in her hands. “I shouldn’t be allowed to speak,” she said. “I can’t request something be off the record after it’s been said, can I?”

“No.” Aly started laughing then. “Sorry. That’s just not…what I was expecting you to say. It takes a lot to shock me. I’m almost impressed.”

Lola removed her hands from her face. “I’m nothing if not full of surprises,” she said with chagrin.

“Good to know,” Aly said, her pretty face tilted to the side. “But just to confirm, for the sake of”—she paused, looking like she was trying to fight a smile—“for the sake of my fact-checker, you are straight, right?”

“Right.”

Lola wondered if Aly was really asking for the sake of her fact-checker or if there was another reason she might be curious about Lola’s specific sexual orientation—a personal reason. She wondered what it might change for Aly if Lola had said something else besides “right.” But she wasn’t sure what else she could have said.

Lola had never told anyone about her specific porn habit, and now here she was, offering the info up to Aly like it was nothing. Aly, the alleged heartbreaker, who was writing a story that would likely be read by tens of thousands of people, including Lola’s parents. And Justin. And—probably the worst of it—Justin’s parents. Her thoughts swirled. She couldn’t believe she was talking about porn with Aly Ray Carter. Did Aly watch porn? Lola’s mind raced.

“Well, for what it’s worth,” Aly said, interrupting her panic, “you did look pretty lesbian chic in that suit.” A half smile twitched across Aly’s full lips, and something devious glinted in her eyes. “Which is, of course, a compliment.”

“Thank you,” Lola said. Her heart started to pound again. For reasons she couldn’t understand, she felt like this was the nicest thing Aly could have said to her.

Lola glanced at Aly’s lips. She had a perfect Cupid’s bow. Very kissable. The thought flickered across her brain before she could stop it.

She swallowed. It was not appropriate to think about kissing the journalist interviewing her. She was basically objectifying her. But…what would it be like? Would Aly use tongue? Teeth? Would she dig her hands into Lola’s hair? Would Aly need to stand on her tiptoes?

Lola had to force herself to stop looking at Aly’s mouth.

Meanwhile, Aly turned the recorder off and knocked back the last foamy sip of her cappuccino, and then she raised her hand to get the waiter’s attention. Lola caught a glimpse of the smooth hollow of Aly’s armpit just beyond the cuff of her T-shirt.

Get ahold of yourself, Fine , she thought. We are not going to ogle this woman’s goddamn armpit. It was too late, though. She’d already stared.

The waiter brought the bill, and Aly tossed a ten on the table. Lola couldn’t remember the last time she saw someone pay in cash.

“Well, talk to you soon,” Aly said and extended her hand as she stood up. “Thanks for your time.”

Lola looked at her hand, confused. The sudden formality was like getting splashed with cold water. Thanks for your time? She’d expected a hug after all that. Maybe an air kiss on the cheek, European style.

Aly’s hand, waiting for Lola’s in the space between them, was slim but strong looking. Her nails were short and bare. She wore a few plain gold rings; a mixed metal chain was fastened around her pale wrist.

“Oh, yeah,” Lola said, finding her way back to the present moment, taking Aly’s hand in hers. It felt cool. “Thanks for your time too.”

Aly squeezed her hand. A spark of electricity traveled up Lola’s arm and into her stomach. Lola did not want to let go. But she did, reluctantly.

And then Aly left.

Lola took a breath. She inhaled; she exhaled. She put her palms on the table and tried to ground herself.

But she couldn’t. She felt like she was levitating.

Long after Aly was gone, Lola could still smell her.