by Naya Rivera
But by far the worst scene I ever filmed was when Santana had to kiss the kid who had mono. One: we were shooting first thing in the morning. Two: they kept spritzing him with glycerin so he’d look extra icky and sweaty. Three: actual, real DNA-containing spit kept transferring from his lip to mine on every single take, and I swear he was doing it on purpose.
In the beginning, Santana and Brittany, Heather’s character, were just allowed quick pecks, because the writers had to assure the network that they were just dipping their toes in the gay pool. But as their relationship progressed, hookup scenes with Heather could also be pretty uncomfortable (though she never spit on me), especially when we were supposed to be in Love with a capital L, making out and then dropping jokes like, “Oh ha-ha, isn’t scissoring just great?” And at this point, Heather was a mom . . .
The biggest kiss we ever had was in a scene right before Santana and Brittany’s wedding, where the stage direction in the script said something like, “They share a kiss they can’t have in front of everyone else.” Brad Buecker, who was directing the episode, came up to us beforehand and gave us this bit of direction: “You know,” he said, “just really go at it.” I guess I did it right, because my mom screamed when she watched the episode and thought I really had stuck my tongue down Heather’s throat. (FYI: I didn’t. The trick is you go in with an open mouth, then close it as soon as you make contact.)
Like many things that went on to become major plot lines on Glee, Brittany and Santana’s relationship started out as a joke. Late one season, Brittany made reference to the fact that she and Santana had hooked up. It was a casual line, and later I asked Brad Falchuk, who’d written the episode, if Brittany and Santana really had a thing. “Well, I don’t know,” he said. But when we came back from hiatus, he’d figured it out: Santana was a lesbian.
At first, I was just happy that she was getting a story line (because, hello, more screen time for me), but as that story progressed, we all started to see how much it was resonating with people. It was no longer a joke or a way to spice things up but something that we should take seriously. As each new episode aired, I would get tweets from people thanking me and telling me how important the story line was to them. The writers would get similar praise—and also the occasional death threat from a lesbian warning them that they’d better not mess this up. I think we did a pretty good job; Santana and Brittany were able to show that a gay relationship was just that—a relationship, with no less or more of the ups and downs that happen in any relationship.
With Santana, I hit my stride after season two. In the beginning, she was super young, so her mean streak and cattiness were very typically high school—her insults were pointed and she looked for obvious weaknesses, like when she tells Rachel, “Nobody ever tells you anything because (a) you’re a blabbermouth, and (b) we all just pretend to like you.” Ouch.
I think people connected with her because everyone loves a good “tell it like it is” person, the only one who says what everyone is thinking. The more Santana’s character developed, the more she started to toss off insults casually, saying them as if she didn’t care if they hit their mark. This effect often made them funnier—and even more insulting.
Being from Lima Heights Adjacent, she was hot-tempered and emotional, but as she grew up, I learned how to show that she internalized pain—no sobbing necessary. I felt like I was growing up with the character because offscreen my life was changing just as much as hers was on-screen. As the show progressed, you could see her come to terms with her own issues, and the more she understood herself, the nicer she was to be around. In the beginning, Santana was a man-eating cheerleader with a chip on her shoulder; in the end she was married to her best friend and truly cared about people. Similarly, I ended Glee happily married with a baby on the way.
OFFSCREEN BONDING
When the cameras weren’t rolling, the cast and crew were just as close-knit and the dynamics just as messy as they were on-screen. Between takes or during set turnarounds, we’d gossip and rehash our weekends or pick apart a date that someone had been on. We were all super involved in one another’s lives—sometimes maybe a little too much. After a brutal week of nonstop rehearsing and shooting and twenty-hour days, instead of all going our separate ways and heading home, we’d hang out in someone’s trailer and play spin the bottle or truth or dare, or we’d just go out to dinner.
In the second season, Kevin and Jenna became roommates, renting a house together, which became our ground zero for hanging out. We nicknamed it the Love Nest, after a tabloid rumor claimed that Kevin and Jenna were dating and had “shacked up in a Laurel Canyon love nest.”
But what happens at the Love Nest stays at the Love Nest. Though, trust me, I know everything that happened at the Love Nest because I was the unofficial third roommate, there every day, no invite needed. Kevin and Jenna didn’t mind, because it meant there was always an audience for Kevin’s impromptu, full-on dance performances around the living room.
The Love Nest was also where we got one of our castmates high for the first time, or at least tried to. We fed him a whole bag of weed gummy bears one New Year’s Eve, and he still didn’t feel a thing. We even got Lea up to the Love Nest, and Lea does not go out. She wanted to let her hair down, so she drank two hot toddies while she was there. The rest of us were slamming champagne and vodka, and Lea’s in the kitchen making tea.
In these early seasons, we definitely spent as much time hanging out together as we did working—and all we did was work. We would all go sing karaoke, we never missed a birthday (or other reason to celebrate), and we got dressed up and did something stupid every chance we got.
Kevin and our friend Telly Kousakis, who had started out as a production assistant on the show but quickly morphed into everyone’s new BFF, nicknamed me Snix, because they said Snix was the name of my alter ego, who only decided to show up when I was drunk. Snix was apparently off-the-charts sassy, whereas regular old sober Naya just registered about an eight or nine. Snix became such a hilarious topic of conversation that one of our producers even worked her into the show as Santana’s alter ego.
Every year, I’d throw a Christmas party called Snixmas. I freakin’ love the holidays, especially decorating my house for them, so I’d go all out for Snixmas. When I lived in Beverly Hills, I rented a giant machine that blew fake snow all over the front of the house, so it was goose-bump-inducing chilly as you walked up to the door. The inside was full of cinnamon candles, warm whiskey, and Christmas carols sung by real carolers. I had little people dressed as elves passing out champagne, and covered the pool so it turned into a dance floor that was made to look like an ice-skating rink. The neighbors loved it. Or, wait, I’m sure the neighbors would have loved it, if they’d been invited. Again, whoops.
One of our makeup artists also threw a giant Halloween party every year. We’d get as many people as we could together for a group costume, and then rent a party bus so we could stay together all night. We may have been partiers, but we were responsible partiers. Also, we could just imagine the TMZ headline: “Entire Cast of Glee Dies in Drunk-Driving Accident While Dressed as Looney Tunes Characters.” Yeah, no . . .
One of my favorite group costumes was when we were the Rugrats characters. None of us broke character all night—we even drank all our booze out of baby bottles and sippy cups (it’s surprisingly convenient—no spills!). Kevin was baby Dil, and we pushed him everywhere in a stroller. Dianna was Reptar (major props to Dianna for bucking the “girls just wanna be sluts” Halloween stereotype and wearing a head-to-toe fuzzy dino costume that was not sexy in the least). Harry and his girlfriend were Phil and Lil, and Telly—who is a not-small man, with facial hair—was Angelica. Telly made a beautiful toddler. One of our writers was the dog, Spike, and I, of course, was Susie Carmichael, one of the few ethnic Rugrats characters.
We had an iPhone boombox cued up to the theme song, which we blasted to announce our arrival,
and carried a playpen. Everywhere we went, we’d set it up in the middle of the room (other partygoers be damned) and climb right in. In pictures, I am so drunk that I’m cross-eyed, sitting there in that damn playpen. After the party, on the way back to the bus, Kevin toppled out of his stroller and was as helpless as a real baby. It took about five of us, over the course of at least ten minutes, to get him back in. Yes, he could have just walked on his own two feet, but where is the fun in that? I think this might have been the moment when I realized how much I loved Kevin McHale and that we would be friends for the rest of our lives.
I also hung out a lot with Dianna outside of the group. Dianna was born fancy. She’s like Madonna—one day, she’d show up with a British accent, and you wouldn’t even question it. Because, hello—it’s Dianna. I nicknamed her Elizabeth Taylor because of her many male suitors (which I entirely approved of—have you seen how hot some of the guys she’s dated are?). We traveled by ourselves, and the first time I ever went to Paris was with Dianna. We were in Europe for the Glee tour and had two days off, so were like, “Screw it, let’s go!”
Dianna wore a pink wig the whole time, and talked to everyone and got us into all these swanky places—not because anyone knew who we were, but just because she worked her magic on them and charmed us right past the velvet ropes. We wandered the side streets, shopped at markets, and hung out in cafés with art students. We smoked nonstop (when in Paris . . .), ate ham-and-cheese baguettes, and drank white wine out of a box. Oui, oui, oui—it was truly the perfect way to do Paris.
The Glee tour was an intense experience for all of us—it was alternately exhilarating and exhausting. This was probably a good thing, because I was just too tired most of the time to realize how monumental it was or how big the venues were. I can get stricken with stage fright—that kind of “I’m going to puke” feeling that’s accompanied by sweaty pits. But when we performed in the Staples Center in Los Angeles, which is the arena where the Lakers play, I somehow thought it was no big deal. A few years later, I went there to watch a show and was in awe of how big it was and how many people were in the audience. Had that registered when we performed there, I probably would have passed out from fear.
There were times when we knew how special Glee was, but for the most part, day in and day out, it was a job. It took a lot of mental focus and a lot of physically hard work. I didn’t have time to think about the bigger picture, but the tour was when it hit me. The show was a full-on phenomenon and I had fans. Holy shit. At a show in Manchester, our choreographer came backstage and said, “Naya, you should go outside—there’s a girl waiting and she has a tattoo of your name.” I did not believe him until I went outside and there she was. I was pretty flabbergasted, like, “Are you sure you wanna . . . Maybe you shouldn’t . . . Oh, wait, you already did . . .” But I gave her my comp tickets for the night so she could at least get free, really good seats for the show.
We made the most out of our downtime as we traveled through all sorts of random places, and after the shows, we’d hang out in one another’s hotel rooms, staying up all night and goofing around. There was not a lot of sleep happening. One of the ways we would pass the time was by putting on what we called “Mousterpiece Theatre,” which was our version of a weird talent show. On Kevin’s birthday, we all gathered in his room to celebrate—he was the “mouster of ceremonies” and wore a cape made out of a bedsheet. He would call upon people to entertain him, and whomever he picked would have to jump up and perform. Heather did a dance in her panties, and I’m pretty sure Cory had a hard-on the entire time. No dis on Heather, because I also did a dance in my panties.
We were just that kind of cast.
REMEMBERING CORY
The night of Kevin’s birthday “Mousterpiece,” Cory and I took a break and sat on the balcony smoking a cigarette, just the two of us. The conversation turned to why we’d never made out, maybe because he was fresh off of seeing me gyrate in my panties.
“How come, out of everybody here, you and I never hooked up?” Cory asked, passing me the American Spirit we were sharing.
“I don’t know, Cory,” I said. “I just don’t see you that way.”
“We’ve never even kissed!” he protested.
I leaned over and pecked him. “There you go!” We laughed, and never brought it up again.
Minus that one incident of kissing, Cory and I had a very brotherly/sisterly relationship, which was rare in a cast that had the sex drive of bunnies and the bed-hopping skills of a polygamist cult. There was no pretense, and I think that made us closer. We were just bros—which was especially funny considering how often our characters insulted each other on-screen.
One summer I spent a ton of time at his house. If I was bored, my car would just automatically point itself in that direction—I didn’t need to call ahead but could just drop by and Cory would be welcoming and happy to see me. He had a million friends, and there was always a BBQ going.
That summer he’d rented a giant mansion in the Valley that looked like it was straight out of Scarface. It was pure marble and glass. He was always having pool parties, which was entirely unsafe, because every surface in the place was slippery when wet. It was amazing that heads didn’t crack open on a daily basis. I’d tiptoe across the puddled tile, always convinced I was one misstep away from death.
• • •
In the beginning, Cory was really open with all of us about his past and the problems he’d had with drugs and alcohol. He flat-out said, “I am a former addict,” and he didn’t drink or do any drugs. As far as I know, he was totally sober up through season three. After work one day that season, he and I went to this rooftop restaurant at the Hotel Wilshire. We sat there for four hours, talking and laughing. I’d just finished a scene where I had to cry, and he complimented me on how real it was. He asked, “How do you just start crying?”
“I dwell,” I said. “I’m a dweller. Use your shitty experiences. It’s like therapy, and it’s awesome.”
“Oh man,” he said. “I can’t do that. I can’t go there. You want to know what I do? I open my mouth for a really long time like I’m gonna yawn, and it makes my eyes water.” It was a sweet moment, but I look back and wonder what kind of pain he was blocking out, even then.
When we were shooting the last episode before going on tour, a bunch of us went out to dinner and decided to celebrate with cocktails because we knew we were going to be working until the wee hours, and there’d be no time to do it later. It was also Cory’s birthday, and when he decided to order a cocktail, it was the first time we had ever seen him drink.
He noticed that we noticed. He explained that he wanted to be able to drink in moderation, that he could do it and be just like everybody else. He seemed calm and confident about it, so we all just accepted it. To be honest, I don’t think many of us really understood how addiction worked, nor did we fully realize the extent of his former addiction.
I always thought of Cory as a recovering alcoholic, and completely forgot that he had also had a heroin problem. I guess he hid it well. I thought of heroin as a problem that was relegated to strung-out junkies who lived on the street, not my sweet, smart, talented friend who had plenty of money. He always knew his lines and choreography and was wide awake. Heroin was the opposite of awake.
When Cory and Lea started dating, it was a total surprise. The more serious they got, the less Cory hung out with us, and the more he seemed like a different person. One year he came back from the break between seasons super skinny. He said he’d been spending a lot of time at the gym and was trying to be responsible—not spending money all the time and buying crazy cars like he used to. My personal feelings for Lea aside, I knew that she wasn’t a partier, so I felt like maybe their relationship could actually be good for him. I was happy for Cory to have a stable influence in his life, wherever it was he found it.
A few months later, I was in London because my then-boyfriend Sea
n was performing at the Wireless Festival. It was after midnight and we were asleep in the hotel when my phone started ringing. Finally, I picked it up, and it was Telly, sobbing uncontrollably.
“Naya, Cory died.” I was shocked, and made him repeat it several times before it sunk in. Telly was inconsolable but also, as anyone who’s ever lost someone to drugs can identify with, angry.
“He died of a heroin overdose. Those fucking drugs! I knew it! I knew it, those fucking drugs!”
This also became a defining moment in my relationship with Sean—I started to realize that I was dating an incredibly selfish person. I shook Sean awake and told him that Cory had just died. He just said, “Oh man, babe, I’m really sorry about that,” and rolled over and went back to sleep. I was crying, and kept coming in and out of the room as I went out into the hallway to make phone calls, and he never got out of bed or even so much as sat up and turned on the light. This still blows my mind to this day.
Kevin just happened to be in London as well, and the news reached him at the same time. I got him on the phone and just sat in my pajamas on the hotel’s hallway floor, with him doing the same across town. We didn’t say much, and mainly just listened to each other cry. Finally, we had to decide what to do. Sean’s show was just a few hours later that day, and we decided we’d still go, mainly because we didn’t know what else to do. Kevin came and met me, and at the show we stayed backstage the whole time so no one would see us.