Page 11 of Best Supporting Actor
Thankfully, these days, no party piece was required. Although, at some point, his mother would no doubt wheel out the piano, which, naturally, she played like a pro. Ronnie, who never missed an opportunity to show off, would be only too keen to lead her other guests in an impromptu sing-song.
Jay would make himself scarce for that—he didnothave a singing voice.
Right now, he was loitering near the extravagant buffet, nursing the bruises on his backside and knees courtesy of several unlikely run-ins with three unruly kids on the ice. Jay was sixty percent certain they were the same three boys he’d seen Tag talking to earlier. Mason had found it pretty hilarious, though, and no doubt a couple of pictures of them sprawled artfully together on the ice would find their way onto his Insta. Fabulous.
To take his mind off his humiliation, Jay had intended to make the most of his mother’s excellent champagne but instead had been inveigled into conversation with an earnest young woman by the name of Tinsley De la Hay. For the last half hour, she’d been telling him all about the clothes-free production ofThe Caucasian Chalk Circleshe was going to be directing at next year’s Edinburgh Fringe.
“...and without costume of any sort masking the performance, Brecht’s text becomes paramount. Do you see?”
“Of course,” Jay said politely. “Nothing for the actors to hide behind.” Poor buggers.
Tinsley nodded eagerly. “And thus the intimate connection with the audience will be intensified a hundredfold.”
“Yes, I imagine they’ll be payingveryclose attention.”
“Ideally, the audience would be clothes-free too.” She sighed dramatically, “But the venue refused—for hygiene reasons, of all things.”
Stoically, Jay managed not to grimace at the thought of all those naked bums on seats. “A little chilly, too, perhaps?”
Tinsley blinked at him. “I’d hope they’d be too engrossed in the work to notice feelingchilly.”
“Who’s chilly?” Dame Cordelia Warren’s thrilling contralto sailed into the conversation, entering boldly from stage right. “Are you sickening for something, Julius?”
Julius, because, yes, his mother really had named all her children for Shakespeare characters. Hence Jay deciding to professionally adopt his nickname from school. Jay turned to greet her with a smile. Her blue eyes were twinkling as she glided towards them, resplendent in a jewel-coloured kaftan, her short, silver hair entirely hidden by an extravagant matching turban.
“We were talking about Tinsley’s production at the Fringe next year,” Jay said. “It’s to be played naked.”
“Oh, Julius, yourface!” Dame Cordelia hooted, amused. She turned to Tinsley and added, “Don’t mind him. Julius can be dreadfully conventional. Iadorenaked theatre. Did I ever tell you about theLearwe did in Regent’s Park? Poured with bloody rain. I was so cold my nipples looked like bullets. Nearly took dear Larry’s eye out.”
Tinsley laughed nervously, but Jay had long ago got used to his mother’s outlandish frankness. “Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked her, changing the subject. “Everyone looks like they’re having fun.”
“Of course they are!” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you?”
“Naturally.”
She regarded him a moment longer, then looped her arm through his and said, “Excuse us, Tinsley, darling, I want to have a little talk with my son.”
Never a good sign. Jay resisted. “Now? Don’t you have guests to entertain?”
“Oh, this lot can entertain themselves for hours just by looking in a mirror. Come along. I’ve got exciting news.”
Worse and worse, but easier to get it over with now than drag it out. Whatever Dame Cordelia had in mind, there would be no escaping until she’d had her say. She led him through the large reception room, past Ronnie, who was holding forth before a small group of ardent admirers. Tall and commanding, Ronnie was a natural director, the centre of attention wherever he went. He caught Jay’s eye as Dame Cordelia sailed past, Jay bobbing along in her wake, and winked in sibling solidarity. Jay lifted his hand in a resigned wave.
Dame Cordelia had a studio deep in her labyrinthine apartment, a place where she’d rehearse or run lines either alone or with others. Aside from the stage itself, Jay thought her studio was the place she was happiest, and he saw her visibly lift as they entered the quiet space. The floorboards were pale oak, golden and shining in the overhead light. During the day, they reflected the sunlight and turned the whole space mellow and warm. Jay rather liked it there too, and as he closed the door on the noise of the party, he felt tension ease from his chest.
His mother strode a few steps into the studio and took a deep breath, as if she were about to launch into an oration, before turning around to face him. “Now tell me,” she said, looking at him shrewdly, “what’s the matter?”
He frowned, taken aback. “Nothing. Why?”
“You look…fidgety in your skin.”
Whatever that meant.
She drew closer, studying him. “An actor needs to stretch his wings, darling, or he gets cramped. And you’ve kept yours clipped for too long. It’s time you flew, again.”
For Dame Cordelia, it always came down to this. Acting was life.
“My wings are doing quite well, thank you,” Jay said mildly. “We start shooting again soon and then—”