The beginning of things with Shane. The pains they’d taken to hide it from everyone else. She’d roll out of his bed (or he out of hers) and they’d stagger their arrivals, each of them commuting alone, floating in on the fizzy high of good sex and secrets.
Then, when everything had blown up after the first season wrapped, her knuckles would clench white on her steering wheel every morning, her mind racing, and she’d try her best to put on a professional face and leave her irritation confined to the doors of her sedan. But once the sharpest edges had dulled, she’d spent most of the subsequent drives staring blankly out at the highway, arriving on set or back in her driveway with zero memory of how she got there.
This drive, though, felt interminable. It wasn’t her performance she was nervous about—as expected, she wouldn’t be appearing in the episode until the very last page, resurrected as a ghost without any memory of her former life. She could’ve predicted that they would want to drag out Kate and Harrison’s final arc for as long as they could. That’s why people were watching, after all.
But that was the irony. As much as the fans were dying for them to get together, it would’ve been the kiss of death for the show once it actually happened. That tension was the engine that kept it running. As soon as they consummated things, either the relationship would become bloodless and boring or the writers would have to resort to an endless cycle of breakups, makeups, and manufactured drama.
The promise of their relationship—the fantasy of what couldbe—was what was appealing. Not the reality, after the honeymoon period was over and one heart or another had been broken, when they couldn’t be in the same room without sniping at, undermining, or just plain ignoring each other.
And, as expected, without that engine, the well-oiled machine ofIntangiblehad begun to falter. After some trial and error, it had shifted to a Shane-led ensemble cast, picking up some recurring characters from previous seasons and adding a few new ones.
Which meant that Lilah was about to walk into what felt like the first day at a new school, but worse. She wasn’t coming in with a clean slate, the chance to reinvent herself. All she could do was keep her head down, do her job, and hope Shane hadn’t turned too many people against her while she was gone.
On the passenger seat next to her was a box of vegan, gluten-free, refined-sugar-free donuts—her signature move when she wanted to win new people over with treats, without alienating them further by offering something most of them would refuse to eat. Mitzi’s was a neighborhood favorite and one of L.A.’s best-kept secrets, since somehow, despite not containing any ingredients that would indicate it, the donuts were genuinely delicious.
Lilah balanced the box on her hip and slung her bag over her shoulder as she headed toward the entrance, breathing a sigh of relief when the door buzzed and clicked open without issue at the press of her key card. As she padded down the hallway toward the main bullpen, the uncanny feeling of déjà vu mixed with dread got stronger with every step.
She rounded the corner and yelped as she nearly collided with Walt London,Intangible’s showrunner. Walt looked stricken—but then, he kind of always looked like that. He was in his early forties, tall, pale, and sallow, with long black hair and threedeeply etched lines on his forehead that reminded her of dragging the end of a paper clip through Silly Putty.
Walt had been runningIntangiblesince the third season, after the show’s creator, Ruth Edwards, had departed due to creative clashes with the network. Once he’d been hired, the tone had shifted drastically.Intangiblehad started as a quirky, somewhat philosophical exploration of grief, with the ghost characters filling a role that was as equal parts metaphorical as it was paranormal. Walt’s main innovation had been to bring in every mythological creature under the sun, as well as open the show up to the world of larger supernatural conspiracies (government and otherwise).
Lilah had been less than thrilled about the turn things had taken, but she couldn’t deny it got results. The show had been a breakout hit in its first season, but by the end of season two, the ratings had hit a slump. After Walt took over, they reclaimed their spot as the top show in their time slot. Until she left, thatis.
When Walt realized it was her, he smiled, an expression that somehow only made him look more worried.
“Lilah, hey. Good to see you.”
It was difficult to tell if he still had hard feelings about her departure, since hard feelings seemed to be the only kind he had. She’d already met with both him and the network months ago, ahead of her return, and he’d seemed just as distressed then as he did now.
She nodded at him. “You, too. Is everyone else here already?”
He shook his head. “They’re still trickling in. You know how it is.” That was one of his catchphrases, almost always delivered with a world-weary exhale. Whenever he deployed it, the only option was to nod contemplatively, even if she did not, in fact, know how it was.
She nodded contemplatively. “Cool. I’m just gonna put these down, then.”
His gaze alighted on the box in her arms. “Oh. That’s nice of you. I think Shane brought something, too.”
Lilah felt her smile falter. Of course he had. The annoying thing was, Shane was so naturally goddamn likable, he didn’t evenneedto bribe anyone with baked goods.
“Great,” she said, resuscitating her smile so forcefully she thought she might pull a muscle. “See you in there.” She moved to pass him, but Walt put his hand on her forearm, stopping her in her tracks.
“Listen.” His expression was dire. “I just want you to know that I’m glad you’re back. No matter what…whatever anyone else may think. You’re an essential part of the show. You and Shane…you’re our anchors. Our North Stars. Remember that.”
Her mouth suddenly went dry. “I think there’s only one North Star.”
He inclined his head gruffly and shrugged. “Well. You know how it is.” He released her arm and continued his journey down the hall. Lilah took a deep breath, heart hammering in her ears, and pushed open the door that led to the writers’ floor.
TheIntangibleoffices were drab and unpretentious: fluorescent lighting, nubby gray carpet, the lingering smell of stale coffee. It was only the framed promo posters from past seasons lining the walls—plus the shelf sporting a handful of Emmys and Golden Globes—that separated it from any run-of-the-mill accounting firm or insurance office. As far as Lilah could tell, nothing had changed since the last time she’d been there.
In the center of the room were four long folding tables arranged in a square shape, surrounded by molded plastic chairs. On the tables were lines of tented cards, one in front of eachchair, each printed with a different name. Even though she couldn’t see hers, she knew exactly where she’d be: right next to Shane.
He was already at the table, studying his script. She was a little surprised not to see him mingling; there were at least a dozen people in the room—actors, writers, producers, assorted coordinators and assistants—mostly gathered around the table by the wall where the coffee was laid out.
As she approached the group, her eyes instinctively glued on Shane, she considered Walt’s comments. She and Shane did have a responsibility to lead the show. Could they put aside their history, their differences, their long-simmering resentments—at least for the next few months? After all, they’d gotten along once before, though that practically felt like a fever dream at this point. But wasn’t it a little immature, after all these years, to still hate him as fervently as if he’d wronged her yesterday?
Maybe the tension between them at upfronts was just a fluke, the last of the residual poison working its way out of their systems. Maybe they’d both changed. Grown up. Now that she was in her thirties, having a nemesis felt slightly undignified, anyway.
Once she got closer to the coffee station, though, all thoughts of a cease-fire evaporated. On the table, lying open next to the mugs, was a pink cardboard box with pale green flowers around the border. An identical box to the one she had braced against her hip.
