16
When Lilah turned her phone back on after landing in Vancouver, she was greeted by a missed call from Jasmine, her agent. She ducked into a corner of the terminal after deplaning, gesturing to Shane and the others to make their way to baggage claim without her.
Jasmine answered, as always, on the first ring. She’d started as the assistant to Lilah’s previous agent but quickly worked her way up the ranks. When Lilah’s agent had dropped her unceremoniously after Without a Net had flopped, Jasmine, now at her own agency, snapped her up so quickly that Lilah’s ego barely had time to bruise.
“Great news. I have a lead on the perfect post-show project for you.”
Lilah adjusted the strap of her bag. “Really?”
“Do you know Night Call?”
“Sure, I’ve read it.” Night Call had been a true crime sensation a decade or so ago, a nonfiction bestseller chronicling the case of a serial killer who had terrorized Seattle in the early nineties. The book had been optioned before it was even published, but had been stuck in development hell ever since, with one big-name actress after another attached to the juicy leading role of the intrepid local journalist (and sister of one of the victims) who had finally tracked him down.
Lilah’s stomach leapt once she realized what Jasmine was saying. “Wait. Is it finally happening?”
“They’re trying to keep it hush-hush, but it’s happening. And Marcus Townsend is adapting it.”
Lilah’s jaw dropped.
Growing up, she’d dreamed of working with her Without a Net director, but in retrospect, she could admit that his creative peak had come a couple of decades earlier. Marcus Townsend, on the other hand, was undoubtedly still at the height of his powers. He’d made five films over the past dozen years, each more critically acclaimed than the last—the first Black director to be a three-time Academy Award nominee in that category. She’d been burned by her previous grasp at so-called prestige, but starring in a Marcus Townsend movie was the closest she was ever going to get to a sure thing.
“You think you can get me an audition?” Lilah asked, once she could speak again.
“The sides are already waiting for you at the hotel.”
Lilah leaned against the wall. “Holy shit. Okay. How long do I have to prepare?”
“They wanted you to come in next week, but I told them you were out of town. Do you think you can put yourself on tape while you’re out there?”
“Absolutely, of course. Whatever they want.”
After she hung up with Jasmine, her nerves buzzing, she power walked her way out of the airport on shaking legs, doubling back when she passed a bookstore to pick up her own copy of Night Call.
…
The hotel they were staying at for the duration of the shoot was clearly chosen for budget over comfort: scratchy carpet, confusing abstract art, thin comforter that she definitely shouldn’t run a black light over. As Lilah dropped her bags and stripped down to take a quick shower, she brattily wondered if their accommodations had any connection to the undoubtedly outrageous cost of hiring Jonah Dempsey to direct these episodes.
The schedule had them hitting the ground running—the first table read was scheduled less than an hour after they arrived at the hotel, in one of the conference rooms downstairs. Lilah threw on a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt before rough-drying her hair, and her phone buzzed with a text on the bathroom counter next to her. When she leaned over to see who it was, she felt an unexpected thrill of nerves.
FUCKFACE: What room are you in?
She thought about ignoring it, but her curiosity won out, and she compromised by responding with the minimum amount of effort.
LILAH: Why
FUCKFACE: I have something to give you
LILAH: If it’s what I think it is I’m not interested
FUCKFACE: Don’t worry, they confiscated that at customs
LILAH: ?
They confiscated your dick at customs?
FUCKFACE: I don’t know where I was going with that one
LILAH: Is that what you said right before they took it away
FUCKFACE: Not that I’m not having the time of my life with this
but are you going to tell me your room number or what
Lilah took a long moment to respond, turning off the blow dryer and flipping her head upside down to twist her hair into a loose bun.
LILAH: 816
A few minutes later, there was a knock at the door. Lilah opened it to find Shane, carrying a cardboard box she’d recognize anywhere: glossy pink with green flowers around the border.
“What is this?” she asked, even though she already knew. He glanced down at the box as if to double-check.
“It’s donuts,” he confirmed, looking back up at her.
“Why?” was all she could manage. He must have gotten them before they’d left, she realized dizzily, and hid them from her even as they’d sat next to each other on the plane.
He looked a little abashed. “For, um. For your birthday. It’s on Tuesday, right? I thought about waiting to give them to you, but they’d probably be hard as rocks by then. They did get a little squished in my suitcase, though.”
Lilah gaped at him. “Oh. Uh. Thank you.” She took the box from him, and an awkward moment passed between them. In the silence, his stomach growled audibly, and she fought not to crack up as he winced.
“Sorry, I haven’t eaten since before we got on the plane.”
“Do you want one?” Now that he mentioned it, she was starving, too.
His glance flicked over her shoulder. “For here or for the road?”
“We have a few minutes, right?”
She stepped aside and he walked past her, his lingering glance telling her the gesture wasn’t lost on him. She shut the door, placing the box of donuts on the counter next to the TV. She broke off half of a maple walnut and nibbled on it, leaning against the dresser, feeling jittery in a way she couldn’t totally blame on low blood sugar. He gravitated toward the vanilla-lavender again before settling in the armchair next to the window.
They ate in silence for a moment.
“Thanks for this,” she said. “Did I already say that?”
“You did, yeah.” Shane popped the last bit of donut in his mouth. “I don’t know. I figured you probably wouldn’t be doing much celebrating, stuck up here working. And I wasn’t sure if anyone else knew.”
It was like he was trying to answer the question still hovering in the air: why he’d gotten them at all. It was the kind of gesture she knew he’d make for anyone. But her heart squeezed when she remembered the last time he’d shown up with them, what that meant.
It was something more than an early birthday present: it was a peace offering.
“I guess not. I’m not sure if I’d be doing much even if I was home, though. Other than changing my birth date on Wikipedia. Thirty-two feels kind of whatever, as far as birthdays go.”
Shane cracked a smile. “Right. Sure.” He brushed the crumbs off his hands. “Are you going home for Thanksgiving?”
She shook her head. “Doesn’t really make sense. You?”
He shook his head, too.
“Should we do something?” He looked so startled that she hurriedly added, “All of us, I mean. And fuck Thanksgiving, obviously. But we have the long weekend, and I’m sure we’re not the only ones sticking around.”
“What would we do? Get takeout, eat it in one of our rooms? That sounds crowded.”
“Yeah, and depressing.” She took another bite and chewed thoughtfully. “Maybe we should rent an Airbnb or something. We could all cook.”
He cocked his eyebrow. “You cook?”
“Don’t sound so shocked.”
“I just…I’ve never seen it.”
She wanted to protest, but it was true. She’d never so much as toasted a bagel in his presence. In fact, she could probably count on two hands the number of times she’d cooked herself a real meal over the past nine years.
They lapsed into silence again, their strained small-talk quota apparently maxed out. Lilah finished her donut, too, marveling at the fact that the two of them still had the capacity to be this weird around each other after all this time. But then, every new wrinkle their relationship took on managed to surprise her, in its own way.
She was forced to accept that what they were to each other defied categorization: more than co-workers, no longer enemies, but not exactly friends, either. Even a few weeks ago, they would’ve filled the space by fighting; now, a different kind of tension flickered between them, more complex and unsettling than mutual animosity.
Maybe he was also painfully aware they were alone in a hotel room—their first time alone together since the stairwell. She cast her gaze down to the hideous carpet and swallowed, her throat suddenly dry, the last crumbs of the donut sticking uncomfortably. She crouched down and pulled a bottle of water out of the minibar.
Shane shifted his weight. “So, have you heard anything about this Jonah guy?”
“Honestly?” she said, straightening up and unscrewing the cap. “Nothing good. I mean, he gets results, which is probably why he still gets hired, but I heard he can be kind of an asshole. And he’s not afraid to do a million and one takes if he’s not happy.”
Shane’s forehead creased.
“What? Am I a terrible person for listening to gossip and judging him before meeting him?” she asked, rolling her eyes.
He shook his head. “No. Just…hopefully he’s happy with the kiss within the first hundred thousand.” The corner of his mouth lifted in a sardonic half smile.
Lilah’s stomach plummeted. She’d known she’d have to kiss him over and over in front of the whole crew, but it hadn’t occurred to her that she might have to do it dozens, maybe hundreds of times, at the whim of a hostile director.
She raised her eyebrows, refusing to show how much it rattled her. “Are you worried you’ve forgotten how?”
“I haven’t had any recent complaints.”
He met her eyes, and the temperature in the room spiked ten degrees.
She didn’t want to think about any of it. The last time she’d kissed him. Who he may or may not have kissed since then. Whether anyone had ever kissed her better.
He looked like he was about to say something else, but instead he stood and stretched, brushing nonexistent crumbs off his shirt. Against her will, she felt her eyes grow saucer-wide as he approached her—then bypassed her completely, stopping in front of the box of donuts. He paused and glanced up at her, as if to ask permission, then did a double take.
“Are you wearing makeup?”
Lilah blinked. “What? No. Why?”
“What happened to your freckles?”
Her hand flew to her cheek, then dropped back to her side. “Oh. They got lasered off.”
“You got them removed?” His brows knit together in concern.
“Not on purpose. It’s a side effect. Trying to shave a few years off more than just my Wikipedia page.”
He returned his attention to the donuts, flipping the lid open and studying the contents of the box. “Too bad.”
“I still have plenty more,” she said reflexively, but she regretted it when his gaze flicked back to her, taking her in from head to toe.
“I know,” he said, in a tone that was matter-of-fact and not pervy in the slightest, but that didn’t stop her from feeling like her entire body was blushing.
Without waiting for her to respond, he grabbed another donut. “See you down there,” he said with a grin, sticking it between his teeth and heading out the door.