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 collegetuition 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 whatyouwant.”
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 afterIntangibleseemed further away than ever.
3
The production offices forIntangiblewere nestled in the Valley, on the same back lot where they shot the interiors. Even when the traffic was bad, it never took Lilah more than thirty minutes to get there from her house in Beachwood Canyon—the main reason she’d settled there in the first place.
The show had offered her a driver, of course, but she’d always been a nervous passenger—plus, she got carsick in the back seat. Ever since the first season, driving herself had been an essential part of her routine, a meditative buffer at the beginning and end of her workday. She’d driven down that same stretch of the 101 dozens of times since she’d quit without so much as a second thought. But now, en route to the table read, she washounded by memory after memory that, up until this moment, she thought she’d successfully suppressed.
The first day, when she’d overestimated the amount of time it would take her to get there from her Los Feliz sublet, and arrived so early she’d sat in the parking lot for an hour.
