Page 63 of Best Supporting Actor
“Where is he?” the man said, his voice deep and gravelly. His face remained in shadow.
“In the White Hare, sitting near the bar wiv two other coves. He’s got a fancy green-and-yellow striped waistcoat on.”
“Good girl,” the man said. He levered himself away from the post and stepped right up to her. For a long moment, their faces were very close, the man’s still obscured as they stared at one another. Then he pressed a glittering coin into her hand. “Best get yourself home now, Mary.”
As he walked unhurriedly away, Mary watched him go, something angry, and longing, in her expression. The last image of her slowly faded, the screen darkening as the title,Bow Street, shimmered to the surface in stark letters, and the ominous, rolling music began.
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
Jay
Jay paused the screen on the final credits, white words on black.
Jude ‘Bishop’ Morton—Tag O’Rourke.
Tag still sat as he had throughout his fantastic final scene, knees up to his chest, arms wrapped around them. In the glow of the television, his eyes were wide and luminous, his face cast in shadow and light.
“Bravo,” Jay said into the soft silence. “As my mother would say, you were wonderful, darling.”
That broke the spell. Tag gave a relieved laugh and began to uncoil, tension seeping out of him as he moved. “Yeah?” The look he gave Jay was familiar: pleased, uncertain, hopeful. Which was exactly how Jay always felt after watching his own performances.
“Absolutely,” Jay said. “You were nuanced and subtle. Fantastic characterisation. And that final confrontation…? There was so much emotional truth in your last few lines. I’m afraid you rather stole the scene.” At Tag’s look of dismay, he added, “In a good way! You were compelling. I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”
Afraid that might have betrayed more than he’d intended, Jay quickly asked, “So come on, tell me what the deal is. Bishop’s got some ulterior motive, hasn’t he, for betraying his gang? It’s not just the money. I could see it in your eyes.”
Tag looked pleased by that, though he seemed to be trying to suppress his smile, biting at the corner of his mouth. “Actually, I don’t know his motivation for certain,” he said. “I mean, in my head he’s got a reason—I made up this little backstory about his father—but I don’t think the writers intended it to be more than just the money. Pete Graves, the director, picked up on what I was doing, though, and liked it, so...” He trailed off, seeming not to know what the consequence of Pete liking it might be. Or maybe just afraid to say it aloud. To jinx it.
“I bet he did,” Jay said. “I know Pete, and I bet helovedit.”
“Yeah.” Tag grinned, boyishly proud of himself, and Jay’s belly seized with a sudden spike of longing. God, he shouldn’t have had so much bloody wine tonight; look what had happened last time they got drunk together…
Oblivious to Jay’s consternation, Tag carried on talking, his tone almost shy as he confided, “Pete did say he might look into expanding Bishop’s role ifBow Streetgets picked up for a full season.”
“I don’t think there’s any doubt it’ll be picked up,” Jay said, which was a half-truth.Hethought the show was excellent, but the viewing public—not to mention studio executives—were fickle beasts, and there were never any guarantees.
“Touch wood,” Tag said, tapping the coffee table in front of them.
"Touch wood," Jay echoed, though he tapped his own temple, making Tag laugh and shake his head.
“Funnily enough,” Tag went on, settling back into his corner of the sofa, “it was that scene that got me the audition forLet Us Go Back. Pete’s the one who put me in touch with Bea.”
“Is that so?” Jay smiled. “Then we both owe him a thank you.” More seriously, he added, “I honestly can’t imagine anyone else playing Owen.”
Tag’s face softened, his expressive eyes gleaming in the light of the TV. “Yeah? Well, I can’t imagine anyone else playing Sassoon.”
Jay’s smile froze. Although rehearsals had been going well, now that they were getting closer to opening night, he kept second-guessing himself, questioning his connection with the character. Panicking at the thought of the audience, of the reviews. He kept that to himself, though, lifting his glass again in a brief toast. “Then I hope I’ll do you justice.”
“Of course you will,” Tag said, as Jay threw back the last of his wine. “You’ve already helped me so much.” His voice dropped, growing husky. “With everything.”
Touched, Jay turned his head back towards Tag, intending to respond with aThank you, or maybeYou’ve helped me too. Afterwards, he couldn’t remember precisely, because at the very moment he turned, Tag leaned forward to deliver a kiss, one that was plainly intended for Jay’s cheek, but that instead landed clumsily on his mouth.
They both froze, eyes open and staring at one another. And in the stunned, timeless moments that followed, Jay became insanely aware of Tag’s body leaning against his own: its tense strength, the bunched muscles in the arm he’d braced against the back of the sofa, the kindling look in his eyes. The softness of his lips. “Sorry,” Tag murmured at last. But he didn’t move back.
And he didn’t sound sorry.
Jay’s heart thundered, his mind a riot of conflicting feelings: panic, hope, pleasure, fear.
Desire.