Page 7 of Best Supporting Actor

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Fourteen hours later, Tag found himself staring at his own pale face in the mirror. He was sitting under an unforgiving light in one of the production trailers while an assistant removed his make-up. His hair, which had been stuck under Bishop’s distinctive bowler hat for the last few hours, was plastered to his head, and he had exhausted circles under his eyes… but Bishop’s pivotal scene was in the can, and Tag thought it had gone pretty well.

God, he could sleep for a month, but tomorrow he had another early shift at City Beans, then a bar gig at a black tie event in the evening. The thought made him almost groan aloud.

Just then, the door to the trailer opened, and Pete Crowley, the director, stuck his head inside. He caught Tag’s eye in the mirror.

“Come and see me when you’re done here,” he said, his voice clipped and business-like.

“Uh, sure,” Tag replied, wondering what Pete wanted.

A few minutes later, face finally bare of make-up and back in his own clothes, he rapped the door of Pete’s trailer, his heart hammering. Had Pete seemed annoyed, or was Tag being paranoid? He’d sounded brusque, but then Pete always did.

“Come in.”

Tag warily opened the door of the trailer and stepped inside. Pete was sitting in his habitual spot, at the built-in eating area next to the tiny kitchen, his laptop open on the small table. He was a tall, spare man—a marathon runner in his free time—and he looked too big for the cosy booth, all elbows and knees. “Take a seat.”

Tag obediently slid into the other side of the booth and waited.

“Your scene today,” Pete began. “That was”—he paused—“it was good. Really fucking good.”

Tag’s heart, which had been pounding, seemed to entirely stop for a whole second, then start up again at a sprint. “Yeah?” he managed. His voice came out a bit strangled.

“There was stuff going on in your head through the whole scene—I could see it, behind your eyes. What were you thinking about?” Pete’s brows were drawn together, his head cocked a little to the right in curiosity.

Tag swallowed. “Just, you know, the why of it.”

“The why of what?”

Tag’s stomach danced with nerves. He’d given this so much thought that it had become real to him, but perhaps Pete would think he was ridiculous.

“Why Bishop decided to inform on Jarvis.”

Pete had been sitting forward, elbows bracketing his laptop on the table, but now he leaned back, eyes narrowing. “That’s not in the script.”

“I know. I just—I needed a way into the scene. What he must be thinking.”

“And what was he thinking?” Pete’s pale eyes were watchful.

Tag hesitated. “That he didn’t want to betray Jarvis, but he had to. Had to sacrifice Jarvis to get closer to Thorne.”

Pete’s brows went up. “Interesting. You don’t think it was just for the money then?”

“He doesn’t ask for money in the script,” Tag said. “There had to be another reason.”

Pete smiled. After a moment, he said, “So why do you think he needs to get closer to Thorne?”

“Because he wants to destroy him.”

Pete’s eyebrows went up in surprise. “Really? Why?”

Tag felt a bolt of nervousness at that reaction. He’d made up his own backstory for Bishop since there was so little about him in the background notes he’d been given—which was hardly surprising given how minor the character was—but now he wondered if he’d been presumptuous. “I don’t think it matters specifically why, for the scene,” he mumbled. “I just needed an emotional anchor for howIwas going to play it, and that’s what I went with.”

“Okay,” Pete said slowly. “But therewassomething specific in your mind, wasn’t there? I saw it in your eyes.”

Tag flushed. “Well, yeah. I sort of made up a little extra bit of backstory for Bishop.” He cleared his throat. “It’s not inconsistent with the script or notes, and it helped me do the scene.”

“I saw that,” Pete said. “So what’s the story?”