2
There were forty-four Lilah Hunter–less days between the UBS upfronts and the first table read of the season, and Shane enjoyed every last one of them. He’d had only one close call—when he’d gone in to shoot the first promotional images for season nine—but, as they’d done it since the second season, the two of them were photographed in separate sessions and composited together afterward.
On day forty-three, Shane pulled his car up to the valet at The Vine, where he was meeting his agent for lunch. He was early, but Renata was earlier, already perched against the floral throw pillows as the hostess led Shane through the packed back patio.
The Vine wouldn’t have been his first choice, but he knew why Renata had picked it. One, it was the place to go when you wanted to be sure you’d be seen. And two, it was where he’d been, quote-unquote, “discovered.” Ironically, he’d been one of the only staff members who wasn’t actively trying to break into the business at the time—a fact that made him deeply unpopular once the news of his audition had gotten around. It was a good thing he’d gotten the part, since he probably would’ve had to find another job no matter what.
In a way, his career had started in reverse, his agent search only beginning after he had already booked the show. He’d signed with Renata because she was the only one who hadn’t promised to make him the next Ethan Atkins in five years or less. It also didn’t hurt that, with her loud ex-smoker rasp and shrewd eyes, she was a dead ringer for his favorite aunt, the one who’d been married five times (but to only three different husbands).
Eight years into their working relationship, he still had no idea whether he’d made the right call, since she’d never actually gotten him a single audition—but then, he hadn’t wanted any. Intangible shot twelve to sixteen hours a day, nine months out of the year, and he preferred not to fill his time off with even more work. But now, for the first time in his career, he had choices to make.
It was still borderline surreal to him sometimes, the fact that he even had a career, that people thought of him as an actor at all. He knew Lilah didn’t, at least. To Ms. Classically Trained Juilliard MFA, he would always be a waiter who got lucky.
“Hi, sweetheart.” Renata rose to give him a hug, her perfume embracing him long before she did. They had barely settled into their seats before she started peppering him with questions.
“Are you an oyster guy? I can never remember who is and who isn’t. You wouldn’t be interested in splitting the cold seafood platter for two, would you? No? Well, never hurts to ask.”
As soon as the hostess left the table, Renata planted her chin on her hands and smiled warmly at him.
“So. Intangible’s finally kicking the bucket.”
“That’s what they tell me.”
Her brow creased. “How are you feeling about everything?” He knew what she was really asking: How are you feeling about working with Lilah again?
The fucked-up thing was, when they’d first told him Lilah was coming back, for a split second, he’d actually been happy about it.
Thankfully, that feeling had passed almost immediately. Then he’d tried to do everything in his power to stop it from happening.
Unfortunately, it turned out his power was not as far-reaching as he’d hoped. The producer credit Renata had negotiated for him before season six was nothing more than a salary bump and an empty title. Besides, as successful as Intangible had been in its prime, he knew it was running on borrowed time at this point—especially in a television landscape that had changed drastically over the past decade. He couldn’t blame them for resorting to this kind of cheap stunt to keep all their jobs around for another year, give them the chance to go out on their own terms.
Shane shrugged, looking down at his menu. “Hopefully there’s life after life after death.”
Renata fixed him with a calculating stare, then clearly decided not to push it. She unfolded her napkin and placed it on her lap with a flourish. “Well, that’s exactly why we’re here. You’re in a very delicate position right now, and we want to make sure your next move is the right one.”
“Isn’t it a little early for this conversation? I won’t be free again until next summer.”
“I don’t have any hard offers or anything. But it’s a good time to think about what’s important to you, what you want the next stage of your career to look like. This is a real turning point for you. There’s a lot of buzz around the show right now, which is good, but it’s a double-edged sword, because people only see you as Harrison. A lot of actors have trouble following up an iconic TV role like that. You don’t want to go too similar and pigeonhole yourself, but you don’t want to go too far in the other direction, either.”
Shane nodded slowly. Tendrils of anxiety curled up his spine, threatening to wrap around him. Harrison was essentially a heightened version of himself—especially after eight seasons of the writers tailoring the role to him—and he’d never tried to do anything else. Any attempt to move in a different direction might end up being a short stroll with a long drop. There was no way to find out without risking total public humiliation, the kind he’d seen Lilah try her best to weather over the past few years. The kind that had sunk her career low enough that she needed to come back to the show for a hard reset. But now that it was ending, he wouldn’t have that safety net anymore.
“I think stability is the most important thing to me right now. If I could get another regular gig like this one, I’d be flexible about what it was.”
The waiter came by to refill Renata’s sweet tea and take their orders. She took a long sip before setting the glass down with a satisfied exhale.
“How do you feel about superheroes? I don’t know about an offer, but I could definitely get you an audition. What about a villain? That might be fun for you.”
Shane leaned back in his chair, considering it. “Would I have to get jacked?”
“Probably.”
“Pass.” He was in decent shape, but judging by how miserable he was every time he had to spend a few weeks cutting carbs for the occasional shirtless scene on Intangible, he probably wasn’t cut out for sacrificing months (if not years) of his life to brutal workouts and strictly regimented meal plans. Plus, his other least-favorite shooting days were the ones in which he had to act against a green screen. He doubted he could pull off an entire movie of reacting to nothing.
Renata pursed her lips. “It’s your call. But if you want my advice, I wouldn’t rule it out entirely. You want stability, that’s a good wagon to try to hitch on to.”
“What are my other options?”
She sighed, plucking a roll out of the bread basket. “Okay. Opposite direction. I got a tip that Perry McAllister is developing an F. Scott Fitzgerald biopic, but they’re still working on getting the script together. I think you’d be perfect for it, if you’re interested. It’s a bit of a gamble, but you’d have your pick of projects if you pull it off. Could really show your range, maybe even be an awards contender. Perry has a pretty good track record.”
He had another jolt of nerves, so quick and strong that he physically shivered. If I even have any range.
“Maybe. What else?”
“Anna Karenina? There’s a new miniseries in the works, and you’ve already got the beard.”
“I’m not sure I have a Russian accent in me.”
Renata waved her hand dismissively. “They’d want British. You’ve never seen a period piece?”
Shane grimaced. His accent work was limited to either toning down or amping up his own. “I don’t know…”
Renata barked out a laugh. “So you don’t want commercial, and you don’t want prestige. You’re about to lose your spot at the top of my Easiest Clients list.”
Shane drained his water glass. “What about another show? Not just a miniseries. Anything there?”
They were interrupted by the waiter stopping by to deposit their entrees: shrimp tacos for him, Margherita pizza for her.
Renata delicately separated a slice from the rest of her pie. “Too early to tell on that front, but I’ll keep an ear out as we get closer to pilot season.” She took a bite, hesitating as she chewed. “Actually…there is one thing. But I already know you’re not gonna like it.”
Shane squeezed his lime wedge over his tacos. “What is it?”
Renata set down her pizza slice. “UBS approached me about a new prime-time game show for next season. They want you to host. Keeping things in the family, and all that.”
Shane perked up. Hosting was definitely in his skill set. If nothing else, he was charming—at least, most people not named Lilah Hunter seemed to think so. And even she had, once upon a time. “Why wouldn’t I like it? What’s the show?”
She sighed. “It’s called I’m Not Swallowing That. Contestants try to catch each other lying, and if they do, the one that gets caught has to eat something disgusting. Supposedly it’s a huge hit in the UK.”
“They have to eat it, or they have to swallow it?”
Renata rolled her eyes. “I don’t know. I assume chewing’s a personal choice.”
“How much are they offering?”
“A fuckload.” She raised her eyebrows. “You’re actually considering it?”
He leaned back in his chair and ran his hand over his beard. “I mean…it would probably be a long-term job, right?”
“Could be. That kind of thing either gets canceled halfway through the first episode or runs for fifteen years. But it would be very hard—maybe impossible—for people to think of you as a serious actor again after doing something like that.”
Shane was silent, holding the question on the tip of his tongue: Am I a serious actor now? He’d never admitted the extent of his insecurities to Renata, though he sensed she picked up on it somewhat. He wasn’t sure what he was more afraid of: that she’d lie to him, or that she’d tell him the truth.
Renata gave him a sharp look, the corner of her mouth turning up sardonically. “Well, if you’re open to that one, I got a script the other day you’re gonna love. You’re a struggling single dad who hires a new nanny, but there’s a big mix-up, and you end up with—wait for it—a monkey.”
Shane burst out laughing. Renata kept her expression stern, though he could tell she was struggling to maintain it as she continued. “The monkey would be CGI, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Renata.”
Renata smiled, dabbing her lips with her napkin. “Good to know you still have some sense left.” She put it down, the humor draining from her expression. “I don’t want to pry. But is everything…okay with you? Moneywise?”
Shane shrugged. “Yeah, fine. I’d just like to keep making it, is all.” His own lifestyle wasn’t especially lavish, but he’d just bought his parents a new house and promised his sister college tuition for all three of her kids. Plus, even though Shane wasn’t directly subsidizing him, his brother, Dean, had been working as his stand-in since season two. If Shane had an extended spell of unemployment, it would affect more than just him.
“Just checking. You have a money guy, right? I can give you some names, if you need them.”
“I’ve mostly been sticking with gold bars under the mattress. Better safe than sorry.”
“Sounds lumpy. My condolences to your overnight guests.”
“You know I’m saving myself for marriage,” he said innocently.
Renata grinned. “You’re lucky you’re so cute, so you can get away with being such a smart-ass.” She stacked the crusts of her pizza neatly on the corner of her plate. “Which reminds me. I can tell you don’t want to talk about it, but: you and Lilah. Anything I need to know about?”
Shane narrowly avoided choking on his taco. “What do you mean?” he managed between sips of water. “I’ve barely seen her. Production hasn’t even started yet.”
“Word at upfronts was the two of you were pretty frosty to each other backstage. I know you aren’t thrilled to be working with her again. Do you need me to step in at all?”
He shook his head. “I don’t think so. Me and Lilah…we’ll figure it out.”
Even as he said it, it seemed impossible—but they didn’t have a choice. They were both adults, both professionals. Most important, their profession literally revolved around their ability to convincingly mask their true feelings. But nothing could’ve prepared him for the wave of anger and resentment, fresh as ever, that had crashed over him as soon as he’d spotted her in that greenroom, framed in the doorway, their eyes locking instantly.
Renata searched his face, brow furrowed. “Okay. Just let me know if there’s anything I can do. I hope you do work it out, though. You two were adorable together.”
“You mean Kate and Harrison were adorable together.”
“Of course,” she replied smoothly. He forced a smile.
“Well. That’s why she’s back, I guess.”
“Exactly. Everyone’s finally getting what they want.” Renata jabbed a seafoam talon in his direction. “Now the next step is figuring out what you want.”
He felt his smile falter. That was the million-dollar question. But right now, the only question on his mind was whether it was possible for both him and Lilah to exit this final season in one piece. And as the clock ran down on his last day of freedom, the lump of dread in his stomach growing larger by the hour, life after Intangible seemed further away than ever.