9
By the time they began production on the fourth episode, Lilah’s attempts to ingratiate herself with the rest of the cast had, thus far, been met with mixed results.
It wasn’t like she needed to be friends with everyone she worked with. Obviously, she’d been spoiled by her experience on H.A.G.S., but she knew better than to expect that every time. And they weren’t outright hostile—to her face, anyway. They were just vaguely distrustful, moderately unfriendly.
She understood it: nothing united a group like a common enemy. With her return upsetting the dynamic of the ensemble—plus whatever Shane had been saying about her—she made sense as a target.
If she hadn’t been in the exact position she was in, she would’ve kept her head down and kept to herself. But she knew she had to be the bigger person—or at least try. It was a fine line to walk: attempting to make genuine overtures toward people who, on the surface, seemed to want nothing to do with her, while avoiding the type of cloying industry-standard fake niceness that made her skin crawl.
If they still disliked her once they got to know her better, that was fine. She’d accepted long ago that she wasn’t for everyone. But she wanted to be disliked on her own merits, at least.
Apart from her and Shane, there were four other actors rounding out the principal cast: Margaux Lang, Natalie Barton, Brian Kim, and Rafael Espinosa. Once Lilah had returned to her seat at the first table read, it had been obvious that the voices she’d overheard talking about her in the bathroom belonged to Margaux and Natalie.
But shockingly, Margaux—who played Harrison’s long-lost daughter, Rosie—had been the first to crack. At lunch during their second week of shooting, Margaux had sidled up to Lilah in line for catering.
“Are you really still friends with all the H.A.G.S. girls?” she’d asked shyly.
At twenty-two, Margaux was in the exact demographic to have grown up watching the trilogy religiously, and that deeply implanted nostalgia was clearly enough to override any misgivings she had about Lilah stealing her screen time. They’d wound up sitting together and chattering a mile a minute all through lunch.
Back at the table read, Lilah had marveled at what a good job they’d done casting her. She was strikingly beautiful, with the heart-shaped face and full lips of Bree (who played Harrison’s late wife in flashbacks) combined with Shane’s mischievous eyes, her light brown complexion the midpoint between their skin tones. She was good, too, especially for her age; it was like she lit up from within whenever the camera was on her.
As soon as they had the chance to talk one-on-one, Lilah was immediately charmed by her—how candid, funny, and wickedly observant she was. She had Lilah in stitches with her impression of Walt, mimicking his hangdog cadence with uncanny accuracy.
Brian Kim also hadn’t seemed to have much of a personal problem with Lilah, probably because he was the most recent addition to the cast—newly bumped up to series regular after appearing as a guest star toward the end of season eight. He played Ryder, a brooding, mysterious vampire, who was obviously being set up for a juicy romance subplot with Margaux (which was likely the other reason she’d warmed up to Lilah so quickly).
Even though he was way too young to normally be on her radar, Lilah’s stomach had still fluttered involuntarily the first time she’d seen him: long and lanky with a pouty mouth, cheekbones to die for, and a perfectly tousled head of glossy black hair. He seemed to have that effect on everyone on set, though, sending PAs and producers alike swooning in his wake. If she hadn’t been trying to stay on her best behavior around Shane, she would’ve teased him about aging out of the Hot Young Eye Candy role—but then again, so had she.
Intangible was Brian’s first major role out of school, so Lilah soon realized what she’d initially clocked as standoffishness was just nerves and shyness. After the two of them had a long heart-to-heart between takes about the whiplash of going from the bubble of a drama school environment to working on a set, he’d loosened up around her considerably, letting his sweet and goofy side come out.
She knew Rafael Espinosa a little better. He was the oldest of all of them, midforties or so, a veteran character actor with a craggy, interesting face and a salt-and-pepper beard. He’d started recurring on the show in the fourth season as Will, an operative at the government agency that had been antagonizing them for years—now turned double agent, assisting their team.
It was obvious that he and Shane had become close in the interim, though. He’d been barely holding back a smirk on that miserable day when she could barely get her lines out. Given his loyalty to Shane, he was probably a lost cause.
Natalie Barton, unsurprisingly, had proven to be the wild card. Her character, Carla, the quirky, deadpan computer hacker of the group, had been brought in primarily as a new romantic interest for Harrison, which meant as Lilah’s ostensible replacement, Natalie was now redundant. She was in jeopardy of being sidelined at best, prematurely written off at worst. Out of all of them, she had the most legitimate reasons to resent Lilah’s presence.
Which was why Lilah groaned to herself when she received the script for the fourth episode: the writers were finally diving headfirst into setting up the love triangle between Kate, Harrison, and Carla. The episode was dominated by the three of them—Lilah and the two people she dreaded sharing scenes with the most.
On the morning they were set to shoot their first scene together, just her and Natalie, Lilah sat through makeup with a nervous quiver in her stomach, Natalie one seat away from her, ignoring her. She was around Lilah’s age, shorter and curvier, with platinum hair and skin almost as pale, striking blue eyes completing the ice queen aesthetic.
They were on location that day, shooting exteriors at the motel that had served as the group’s base of operations for the past few seasons. When they arrived, they quickly blocked out the scene with Paul, the director.
“Are you good to go, or do you need more rehearsal than that?” Paul asked.
Lilah and Natalie eyed each other. Rehearsal was a luxury most of the time—especially for exteriors, where natural light was a factor—but it often ended up saving time on the back end, since they could catch problems early without wasting takes. However, this scene was short and straightforward enough that they probably didn’t need it.
“I’m…” Lilah began, nodding slowly, still looking at Natalie. “If you…do you?”
“No, I’m good. Let’s do it,” Natalie said, her tone curt.
They got final touches on their makeup and made their way to their starting marks inside the room.
“Roll sound…roll camera…mark it,” the assistant director called from the other side of the door, the slate clapping.
“Action,” Paul yelled.
Natalie burst out of the door faster than Lilah was anticipating, forcing her to speed walk to catch up so she could deliver her first line. They barely got through a page and a half of dialogue before Paul called “Cut,” both their heads snapping toward him.
“Nat, you’re playing it kind of aggressive,” he said. “I think you’re wary of her, but you don’t need to ice her out that much. Try to find a little more warmth, a little curiosity in it.”
Natalie took the note without reacting, but Lilah could feel the tension radiating off her. “Sure. Okay. Sorry, Paul.”
“I know you’ll get it. Let’s reset, back to one. Lilah, you’re doing great, don’t change a thing.”
Lilah winced internally as she saw Natalie stiffen further at Paul’s praise. Sure enough, the next take wasn’t any better, and with each subsequent take, she could tell Natalie was getting more and more psyched out.
“Hey, do we have time for a five?” Lilah finally called out, after yet another unsatisfactory attempt. Natalie shot her a glance that was halfway between embarrassed and grateful as Paul agreed, the crew dispersing. Lilah turned to her.
“Can we talk?”
They walked alongside the motel until they reached the wall farthest from the set. Lilah stopped, leaning her shoulder against the stucco. Once Natalie’s wary gaze settled on her, Lilah felt a flutter of nerves, but she forced them aside. It was now or never.
“I think we need to clear the air a little,” Lilah said. “Maybe I’m imagining it, but I’ve been feeling some weird tension between us since the first table read.”
“No,” Natalie said, her eyes trained on her feet. “You’re not imagining it.” Lilah waited, but she didn’t elaborate any further.
“Okay. Well. It’s fine if you don’t like me, or you don’t like that I’m back on the show, or whatever it is. But if there’s anything you want to say to me, or anything I can do to fix it…let’s talk it out. Or, as much as we can in—” Lilah checked her phone. “Three and a half more minutes.”
Natalie was silent for a moment. Then she brought her hand to her eyes and groaned in frustration. “God. I’m sorry. It’s not you.” She dropped her hand and crossed her arms. “You know your fans are fucking scary, right?”
Lilah blinked, surprised. “My fans?”
“Yeah. You and Shane. I can’t open my phone now without someone harassing me for getting between you two. Saying the most fucked-up shit you can imagine. Telling me to kill myself, telling me they know where I live. And this season hasn’t even started airing yet.”
Lilah’s stomach lurched. “Are you serious? They know it’s not real, right?”
“You’d think.”
“Fuck.” Lilah exhaled heavily. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea it was that bad. I don’t run any of my social media, I haven’t looked at any of that stuff in years. Is there anything I can do to make them calm down? Like, post a picture of us together or something? Tell them to chill the fuck out?”
Natalie smiled wryly. “Maybe I should just leak a behind-the-scenes video of you and Shane. Then they’d see that I’m not the one keeping you guys apart.” Her expression turned earnest. “I’m sorry I’ve been taking it out on you. It’s hard not to think about it whenever I’m around you. But it’s not your fault. Although I guess it doesn’t help that it kind of feels like the writing’s on the wall. Like the show isn’t big enough for everyone.” There was no arrogance in Natalie’s delivery, just an aura of defeat. Lilah’s chest tightened in sympathy.
“That’s not true,” Lilah said, shaking her head emphatically. “They’re really lucky to have you. We’re lucky, I mean.”
Natalie looked like she was about to protest, but she met Lilah’s eyes, and something in her whole countenance softened. Like she could tell Lilah was being sincere.
“Not today, you aren’t,” Natalie deadpanned, her eyes flicking back toward the set.
Lilah waved her hand dismissively. “We all have those days. You saw me fighting for my life last week.” Her phone alarm buzzed, notifying them their break was over. She silenced it with a swipe. “Should we get back to it?”
When they returned to set, they nailed the two-shot in one take.