11
Backstage at After Hours with Joey Masters, Lilah was trying her best to keep her cool—or look like she was, at least. If she’d still been in her own dressing room, she probably would’ve been pacing, trying to work off some of her nervous energy. But once she’d gotten her hair and makeup touched up, she’d been brought to a shared greenroom with Shane to await their interview together.
The network had put them on a red-eye to New York less than a week before Intangible’s season premiere, their After Hours appearance serving as the centerpiece of a press tour that had seemed endless. Thankfully, they’d been making the rounds separately as much as together. But out of everything they’d done so far—the magazine spreads, the newspaper profiles, the soul-searching podcast interviews, eating hot wings on YouTube—this appearance was the one she’d been dreading the most.
After Hours was an entertainment industry dinosaur, a legendary late-night talk show that had been on the air since the fifties. Its current host, comedian Joey Masters, had gotten famous for his filthy, misogynistic stand-up, his hard-core coke habit, and his extramarital hookups with barely legal fans. But once he’d done the bare minimum to clean up his act, he was rewarded, in classic smarmy-white-guy fashion, with a show that brought him into fifteen million homes a night.
Talk shows had always made her skittish, though she wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t being in front of an audience—she’d done plenty of theater. The show was pretaped, not live. All their talking points had been approved in advance. She’d been a professional actress for over a decade now; there was no reason that her hands should be this sweaty, her heart racing like she’d been running stairs at the Empire State Building.
Maybe it was because she was playing her least favorite character: herself, but not herself. Blander, glossier, smilier, all her sharp edges sanded off, eyelids heavy under fake lashes and skin thick with foundation, channeling a level of perky falseness that left a bitter aftertaste in her mouth. Or maybe it was the persistent reminder that a hell of a lot of people’s jobs—her own included—were riding on whether a critical mass of strangers wanted to either be her friend or fuck her.
This was the kind of thing that made her feel the most under the microscope, even more so than when she was secretly photographed out and about with no makeup and greasy hair. It was the ultimate paradox: She was there to show the audience how relatable she was, that she was just like them. But the fact that she was up there to begin with meant she wasn’t very much like them at all.
When she’d arrived in the greenroom, Shane was already there, standing with his hands in his pockets, looking idly at the pictures on the wall of previous guests spanning the past half century. When he glanced over at her, she’d felt a jolt that was certainly just nerves, and nothing to do with the way he looked in his suit: dark blue, no tie, crisp white shirt unbuttoned enough to see a hint of chest hair. He gave her an appreciative once-over in return, then planted himself in the middle of the couch and pulled out his phone, leaving her to spiral in relative peace.
Joey had stopped by soon after to shake hands and make small talk, briefly going over the topics for the interview one more time: the photo shoot, the season premiere, how great it was to be back together. Lilah nodded and smiled and didn’t say much, distracted by the soft buzz filling her head, thankful that Joey mostly ignored her in favor of bro-ing down with Shane. Her emergency Ativan called to her from her clutch, but she knew it would be a mistake to break into it. She needed to stay sharp.
After Joey left, she leaned against the long counter that lined the wall opposite the couch, drumming her fingers on it rhythmically.
“Man. I forgot how much you hate this.”
She glanced up to see Shane staring at her.
“I’m fine.” She cringed at the tremor in her voice, audible even in two terse syllables.
He slid his phone into his jacket pocket and settled against the couch, stretching his arms wide across the back. “I don’t think I’d last five minutes in there.”
“Where?”
“Your brain.”
To her surprise, there was nothing derisive in his tone—just quiet bemusement.
She closed her eyes, taking deep, deliberate breaths, forcing her lungs to do their job, despite what felt like a hundred pounds of wet sand sitting on top of them.
The show’s muffled theme music filtered through the walls, alerting her that the taping had started. When she opened her eyes again, she directed her gaze at the monitor next to Shane’s head, watching without really watching as Joey silently mugged his way through his monologue.
“Do you still have stress nightmares all the time?”
She glanced sharply back at Shane. She’d forgotten she’d ever told him.
She’d been plagued by them since she was a kid, vivid and disorienting, causing her to wake up with her heart racing or her pillow wet with tears. In the first recurring one she could remember, she was sitting in the back seat of a car in the dead of night, hurtling along a narrow forest road at breakneck speed, crawling up to the front seat in a panic only to find no one driving. As an adult, she was often on the run, a variety of relentless pursuers hot on her tail, the consequences once they caught her ominous but unclear.
The fact that he’d even remembered, let alone brought it up at all, had her on high alert.
“Are you trying to tell me I look tired?”
“Just curious.”
She considered ignoring him—but the alternative was going back to the interminable silence, drowning in her own thoughts.
“Not always full-on nightmares. But anxiety dreams, yeah. Most nights.”
“And you don’t have any way to manage it? After this long?”
“No, I do. Sort of.”
The caginess of her answer didn’t deter him. In fact, it seemed to do the opposite, his posture straightening. “What? What is it?”
She shook her head.
“Come on,” he said, breaking out his most charming grin. Lilah’s stomach did an involuntary flip, and she sighed.
“Sometimes it’s, like, lucid dreaming. Where I can control it. Especially if it’s one I have a lot. So if that’s the case, I just…do my best to turn it into a sex dream.”
Shane burst out laughing. She felt something flutter in her chest, distinct from her jitters. Something almost pleasant.
“And how does that work, exactly?”
She shrugged, doing her best to keep a straight face. “I try to have sex with whatever’s coming after me. Or, like, a random bystander, if I’m not being chased by anything. It kind of depends on the situation.”
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his gaze direct. “Anyone I’d know?”
“You know, it did look a little like you under the Pennywise makeup the other night.”
He laughed again, a quick, surprised bark. “You fucked Pennywise?”
“Well, I tried. He wasn’t really that into it.”
“You got rejected by Pennywise? That is a nightmare.” Shane reclined back against the couch again, crossing an ankle over his knee, appraising her. “For what it’s worth, you’re way out of his league.”
“Thanks. I’ll tell him that next time he shows up.” She shifted her weight, crossing her arms. “Other kids used to call me that sometimes, when I was growing up. You know. The hair.”
Shane frowned, tapping his finger to his lips. “Hmm. And now he haunts your nightmares and turns down your sexual advances. I wonder what that means.”
She suppressed a smile. “Stop trying to analyze me.”
“I could never. I’ll leave that to Dr. Deena.”
Shane leaned over to the monitor and turned up the volume, Joey’s voice gradually becoming audible.
“After the break, we have two very special guests—you’re in for a treat tonight, folks.” He grinned, displaying more teeth than should reasonably fit in a human mouth. “The stars of Intangible are here: Lilah Hunter and Shane McCarthy.” The applause that followed was so thunderous it felt like it shook the greenroom. “Yes, yes, we’re all very excited. We’ll be right back!”
It wasn’t until her heartbeat kicked into double time again that she realized how much their conversation had calmed her—if only temporarily.
A production assistant came to herd them to their spot in the wings, behind the band, hidden by a curtain, to wait out the short break while they reset everything for the interview.
Lilah could hear a flurry of commotion around her—the audience chattering, crew members murmuring into headsets, the band riffing—but their pocket of the wings was relatively peaceful. It was just the two of them, plus a lone PA stationed a few feet in front of them, facing the stage, attention elsewhere.
The anticipation was always the worst part. Once she got out there, she’d be fine. That’s what she told herself, anyway, as her heartbeat grew bigger somehow, until she was one giant pulse, her head so light she thought it might float off her shoulders.
“Are you okay?” Shane’s voice cut through her reverie. She glanced at him, and whatever he saw on her face had his brow creasing in unfamiliar concern.
She nodded, her hand flitting up to brush her hair out of her face, which was a mistake. One, because it had already been perfectly arranged by the stylist and wasn’t in her face whatsoever. And two, because it drew both of their attention to how badly her hands were shaking.
He took a step closer, and she instinctively backed away, her shoulders brushing the curtain.
“Hey,” he said quietly, in an obvious attempt to soothe her. But it just freaked her out even more, because the last time he’d used that tone with her was—actually, she didn’t think he ever had. “C’mere.”
He reached out to touch her bare shoulder, soft and unsure, and if she’d felt even marginally less frazzled, she would’ve brushed him right off. Instead, she stepped forward and allowed herself to be folded into his arms, her body overriding the protests of her brain in a desperate search for comfort before she shut down completely.
She slid her arms around his lower back, inside his unbuttoned jacket, a sigh escaping her as his scent and warmth enveloped her on all sides. His own arms flexed in response, pulling her closer. She half expected to tense up, but instead, the aching familiarity of it all had her melting into the embrace like a stick of butter on a hot skillet. She nestled her forehead into his neck, careful to avoid smearing makeup on his collar. Her shallow breaths began to match the pace of his, deep and even, gradually syncing up.
And then, to her astonishment, she felt his face turn slightly, until his mouth was pressed against her hair. But it must have been an anxiety-induced hallucination, because there was no fucking way Shane McCarthy was kissing her on the fucking head.
Something shifted between them then, something she didn’t want to think about. Something that made a fully clothed hug suddenly feel exponentially more intimate than when she’d been naked on top of him a couple of months ago. His breathing became heavier, almost ragged, at the same time as her heart began to pound again.
Vaguely, she heard the band break into the theme song, signaling their return from the break. The PA next to them cleared his throat.
She and Shane released each other, slowly enough that it could be considered reluctant. When she got a look at his face, his brow was creased even more deeply than before, which made her feel a little better. Less alone in her confusion.
As they pulled apart, his fingertips skated down her bare arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. At the last second, she caught hold of his hand.
He looked down at it, then back up at her, his expression difficult to parse. He didn’t let go, though, just gave her hand a quick squeeze, which she was grateful for, because it felt like the only thing keeping her from passing out.
The curtain in front of them opened, the audience howling with excitement as they walked onstage to an instrumental cover of “Superstition.” She realized too late that they were still holding hands, that people could actually see them now. Shane seemed to have the same thought at the same time, and they separated halfway to the couch, settling on the cushions—close, but not too close—as the band played their final sting.
After exchanging a few generic pleasantries, Joey leaned back in his chair.
“Now, listen. Let’s address the elephant in the room here. There’s been some rumors going around that the two of you don’t get along, but honestly, I’m having a hard time believing that. Was I hallucinating, or were you holding hands when you came out just now? Ronald, did you catch that?” He lobbed the last question at Ronald, his bandleader.
“I did see that, yeah,” confirmed Ronald.
Lilah and Shane exchanged conspiratorial glances, though inside she was still as bewildered as ever.
“I thought she looked cold,” Shane said innocently.
“I see. So you were warming her up, one hand at a time?”
The audience tittered.
“Every little bit helps.”
“He’s very considerate,” Lilah said.
“Are you cold, Lilah?” Joey asked, returning his attention to her. “I’m sorry, that’s probably my fault. I’m always asking them to crank the AC. The suit, the lights, it can get a little moist in sensitive areas.”
“Well, not all of us are lucky enough to be wearing suits,” Lilah said, feeling her smile turn sickly sweet.
“You’re right, you’re right. Shane, why don’t you give her your jacket?”
The audience whooped and cheered. Lilah demurred, but it didn’t stop Shane from immediately shucking off his jacket and leaning over to drape it around her shoulders. Her fingertips brushed his as she reached up to pull it tighter around her, the warm satin lining like an embrace against her chilled skin, a tangible reminder of the one they’d shared backstage a minute ago. She shivered.
“Thank you,” she murmured, gazing up through her oversized eyelashes at him, feeling obligated to ham it up a little for the camera lurking in her peripheral vision.
“How are we doing now?” Joey asked. “Comfortable?”
“All better.”
“Great, great. See? This is what I’m talking about. We’re all friends here, right? Now, speaking of. Everyone’s been talking about these pictures of you two.” Joey turned to the audience. “Have you guys seen these? Can we get them up on the screen?”
The audience oohed and aahed, scandalized, as pictures from their Reel photo shoot faded onto the monitors.
Lilah had been sent proofs through her agent a few weeks ago, but the prospect of looking through them had been so unappealing she’d approved them without opening the email. Seeing them now, though, took her breath away. Dario had done an incredible job: like he’d promised, they were sexy without being sleazy. Her eye was drawn immediately to their faces, rapt with desire, their naked bodies almost beside the point.
“So, level with me,” Joey said. “What’s it like, shooting that kind of thing? Gotta be a little awkward, right?”
Lilah and Shane both opened their mouths to reply, then made eye contact and hesitated, intentionally drawing out their knowing looks a beat too long, making the audience laugh.
“It’s just part of the job,” Lilah finally replied, with a coy smile.
“It was kind of boring, honestly,” Shane added. “I almost fell asleep a few times. I mean, we were already in bed, you know?”
“Right. Right. Just another day at the office,” Joey said. “Ronald and I have a shoot like that every morning before we get our coffee, right, Ronald?”
“You didn’t tell me there were cameras,” Ronald replied, and the audience hooted.
Lilah felt like she was watching herself from outside her body after that, as she, Joey, and Shane discussed her return to the show and what fans could expect from the final season. She saw herself gush about how welcoming everyone had been, how much she’d missed playing Kate. They played a clip from the premiere, her resurrection scene.
“That was from the ninth season of Intangible, premiering next Tuesday, September twenty-third,” Joey said as the audience cheered. “Don’t go away, we’ll be right back with Lilah Hunter and Shane McCarthy, and we’re gonna play a little game. Stay tuned!”
A few days before the taping, Lilah had been sent a brief questionnaire to fill out about Shane, and he’d presumably had to answer the same questions about her. During the break, a producer handed each of them a small stack of cards containing their answers, so they could try to match them, Newlywed Game–style.
“Now, you two have known each other a long time,” Joey said after the break. “Today, we’re going to test out just how well you know each other.”
They started out simply, just the facts—how many siblings Shane had (two) and where Lilah had grown up (Philadelphia)—which they both answered correctly.
Joey consulted his cards. “Lilah, this next one’s for you. What’s your go-to snack when you’re on set?”
Lilah blinked. It hadn’t occurred to her that the sets of questions they got would be slightly different, that her own answers would have to be off the cuff. She grabbed onto the first thing that crossed her mind.
“Um…almonds?” She regretted it the moment she said it. It was true, but she knew it made her sound like an out-of-touch diet article in a women’s magazine, like she was just another neurotic actress obsessed with maintaining her weight. Which maybe she was, but only to the extent that she had to be. Either way, it wasn’t an answer that would endear her to anyone, which was supposed to be the point.
“All right, solid choice,” Joey said. “A little boring, but solid. Shane, let’s see your answer. What does Lilah like to eat on set?”
Shane turned over one of his oversized cards to face Lilah and the cameras. When she saw what he’d written, she shocked herself by throwing her head back and laughing—her first genuine reaction of the night.
The card read LEAN POCKETS AND RED BULL.
Joey laughed, too, clapping like a trained seal. “Your cover’s blown, Lilah. I knew that ‘almonds’ thing sounded fishy.”
Lilah exchanged looks with Shane. “No comment.”
“All right, all right, I see what’s happening here. Let’s keep it moving, then. Shane, who was your first celebrity crush? Getting into the really hard-hitting questions now,” Joey added under his breath, shooting the camera an exaggeratedly world-weary glance.
“My first celebrity crush?” He took a moment to think about it. “I gotta say…Ginger Spice.”
Joey nodded emphatically. “Good choice, man, good choice. Right there with you. Lilah, did you get it?”
Lilah felt a smug thrill in her stomach as she revealed her card: GINGER SPICE.
“Nice work,” Joey said. “You know, Lilah, you’ve got kind of a Ginger Spice thing going on yourself.” He addressed the next question to Shane. “Does she ever wear that little Union Jack dress for you?”
Lilah laughed, but in every way except physically, she was already in the scalding hot shower she knew she’d need later to scrub this interview off her.
Shane’s face was somber. “Actually, I’m usually the one wearing it.”
The crowd hollered and whistled as Joey grimaced. “Now, that’s an image I didn’t need.”
Lilah rolled her eyes. “Can we move on, please?” She meant it to sound playful, but as soon as it came out, she felt the caustic edge to it.
Joey straightened his cards. “Okay. I’m sensing this game is wearing out its welcome, but luckily we’re on the last one. This is for you, Lilah.” He assumed a serious expression, delivering every word with melodramatic gravitas. “Most. Embarrassing. Moment.”
Lilah froze. She looked at Shane, trying to figure out what he might have said. The answer was obvious: her movie. Her agent had told Joey’s producers that the topic was off-limits for interview banter, but Shane could easily go rogue. But he wouldn’t actually write that, would he? It would just make him look bad.
“Uh…” She stalled for a moment, praying something else would come to her. Suddenly, it did. “Oh! One time when we were shooting, I was wearing these really tight pants that were made out of this, like, thin satiny material, and we were doing a scene where I kept having to crouch down over and over, and then finally…” She trailed off, scrunching up her face.
“You ripped ’em?” Joey supplied.
“I ripped ’em,” she confirmed with a self-deprecating laugh, the audience following suit.
They both looked over at Shane. It seemed like he was turning the card over in slow motion, her heart pounding in her ears, her brain struggling to unscramble the letters written on it:
RIPPED HER PANTS ON SET.
She felt a rush of relief so intense that she was dizzy for a moment. Declining to humiliate her on national television was a pretty low bar for him to clear, but she appreciated it all the same.
The crowd cheered at their success, Joey pausing for a minute to wait for it to die down. “I’d like to see those outtakes, if you know what I mean,” he said, waggling his eyebrows at the camera.
She smiled, frozen. She knew the good-natured lech thing was part of his shtick, but it also felt like every hair on her body was standing on end. In any other circumstance, she’d have no problem dressing him down or removing herself from the situation altogether, but right now, she had two options, neither of them good: call it out and look like a humorless bitch, or say nothing and look like a doormat.
But to her astonishment, Shane swooped in with a third option she hadn’t considered.
“No, I don’t know what you mean,” he replied, without a trace of humor in his voice.
Joey’s smile faltered. “Hey, come on. It was just a joke.”
“I don’t get it,” Shane said evenly, fixing an unwavering stare on Joey. “Explain it to me.”
The audience tittered uncomfortably.
Finally, Joey pulled at his collar exaggeratedly. “Jeez, tough crowd.” He switched back to address the camera, smoothly transitioning them out from the segment, thanking them for appearing, and bumping the show back to commercial. She had no doubt that that last exchange would be cut from the final episode before it aired that evening.
The music swelled and the cameras panned back, Joey leaning in to make fake small talk with them until the moment his producer called “Cut.” Then, they were swept off the couch with little fanfare.
As they headed backstage again, Lilah glanced over at Shane. “Thank you,” she murmured.
He met her gaze but didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. To her surprise, she felt the pressure of his hand between her shoulder blades, just for a second, through his jacket, which she was still wearing. There was something in the gesture reminiscent of their earliest days, back when it felt like the two of them against the world.
She didn’t know what to make of any of it. All she knew was that she was grateful.
The next morning, Walt emailed them both a link to a Vulture article, accompanied by two words: Nice job. She didn’t even have to click the link to know what it was, based on the fact that the URL ended with karrison-shippers-assemble.html. But she clicked on it anyway.
When the page loaded, she was greeted by a header image of her and Shane on the couch, him frozen in the process of draping his jacket around her shoulders as she gazed up at him with an expression that, if she didn’t know any better, she’d say looked a lot like adoration.