Page 90 of Best Supporting Actor

They both spun round to find Henry glaring at them.

“Henry—” Tag said, startled. “We were just—”

“—having a stupid argument,” Jay interrupted, stepping forward. “You know how it is when we get to this stage. Tensions are running high.” He turned back to Tag. “I’m sorry—my fault entirely. Shall we get back to rehearsal?”

Tag frowned and opened his mouth to argue, but Henry was already turning away.

“Come on, then,” Henry snapped. “Let’s make a start on Act Two.”

CHAPTERTWENTY-THREE

Tag

Somehow, they managed to limp to the end of the disastrous dress rehearsal, though Jay remained stiff and distracted throughout, and Tag knew he hadn’t been much better. Bea, watching from the middle of the stalls, had chewed her lip anxiously while Henry just looked grim.

As soon as possible after the final scene ended, Tag escaped backstage to the dressing room.

He sat slumped in front of the mirror, thoughts circling back to the sight of Jay holding those fucking pills and Austin’s words of last night—“Well, there was thatDraculafiasco a year or two ago. …I understand he needed some, er, artificial help to get through it. …he was completely stoned that night. Tragic, really.”

Tag didn’t know how much of that to believe, but there was no denying that he’d caught Jay with some pretty serious prescription medication. It was suddenly, shockingly clear that Austin had been right about one thing: Jay was suffering from stage fright so crippling that he needed meds to get through it. And not for the first time.

The enormity of it hit Tag all at once. Performing on stage with Jay was a huge risk, one that Tag hadn’t even known he was taking. If Jay seriously fucked up, Tag’s stage debut could turn out to be a disaster.

Why thefuckhadn’t Jay told him?

Their personal relationship aside, they’d been working together for six weeks. He’d thought they were a team, that they had each other’s backs, but not once had Jay said anything. Tag still wouldn’t know if Austin hadn’t warned him.

The truth was, he felt deceived.Betrayed. He’d given up his job to take this role, shouldering a financial burden he couldn’t really afford. Would he have done it if he’d known Jay was maybe,possiblyunreliable? Difficult to say, but he should at least have had the fucking choice.

He wondered, then, whether Henry and Bea knew. Bleakly, he concluded that they must, especially Henry, who’d known Jay for years. Yeah, they’d probably known and decided to accept the risk, which,fine, because at least they’d knowntherewasa risk. Tag hadn’t, despite having the most to lose. Bea and Henry—and Jay, of course—all had the wealth and connections to protect them if the play went tits up. Tag had nothing. He’d been operating without a safety net his whole career, and none of them apparently gave a shit about that. Or maybe they just hadn’t thought about it. He wasn’t sure if that was better or worse.

Tag stared at himself in the mirror, his hair slicked and parted à la 1918, make-up smudged around his eyes. He looked angry; he felt angry too. No, be honest. He feltafraid, terrified that his big break was going to end in disaster. Terrified that all his hard work and dreams would die here.

Maybe he should tell Henry about the pills? There might be something he could do to support Jay, or talk him down from his panic. If nothing else, as the director, Henry probably had a right to know.

Even so, going behind Jay’s back like that…?

Still undecided, Tag scrubbed off his make-up, hung up his costume, ready for tomorrow, and dressed quickly before heading back to the stage. Jay was already down in the auditorium, back in his civvies and with his jacket on, talking to Henry, who had a firm hand on Jay’s shoulder.

Okay, that was good. Tag felt a slight unwinding of tension at the sight of their earnest conversation. As he watched, Jay nodded, though his gaze remained fixed on the floor. A moment later, Henry gave him a firm pat on his arm and stood back.

“All right, everyone,” Henry said, addressing them all. “That was a pig’s ear of a rehearsal, I admit, but you know what they say: ‘Bad Dress, Great Opening’. So go home, relax, and I’ll see you back here tomorrow.”

Jay was moving before Henry had stopped speaking, making it very clear that he wasn’t waiting for Tag. Fine, whatever. A little time to cool down was probably a good idea. Crossing the stage, Tag made his way slowly down the steps to the stalls just as the doors closed behind Jay.

Henry and Freddie had their heads together by then, discussing something in Freddie’s copious notes, and Bea was chatting with Rafe. Tag hesitated. Part of him wanted to tell Henry about the pills, wanted to do something to mitigate the risk, but despite his churned-up feelings, a bigger part of him recoiled from the thought of betraying Jay’s confidence. He should at least talk to Jay first and make sure he fully understood what was going on. After that, if he was still worried, he could always phone Henry. With luck, though, he and Jay could talk it out without needing to involve anyone else.

Calling goodbye to the others, Tag left the theatre and started walking home. There was a light drizzle in the air, so he hurried, hoping he might catch up with Jay since he wasn’t far behind. There was no sign of him, though, and Tag suspected he’d taken a cab instead of walking. That was confirmed when he got home to find the apartment empty and Jay’s clothes scattered across the bed, his running shoes gone from their place by the door.

Well, that was probably for the best. Running always helped Jay work off his stress, and hopefully he’d be feeling calmer when he got back. Hopefully they both would.

Kicking off his own shoes, Tag eyed Jay’s bag, dumped by the front door. Dithering only for a moment, he crouched down and opened it, ferreting around until he found the box of pills. Opening it, he was relieved to see that Jay hadn’t taken any yet. Tag turned the packet over in his hand, then went to sit on the sofa to google the pills.

He’d been right about what they were: the same stuff his dad had taken during those first terrible weeks after the business collapsed, dragging his mental health down with it. Tag might be relatively new to theatre, but he remembered how the pills had affected his dad, and the idea that any actor took them before a performance had to be bollocks. The list of common side effects was as long as his arm, and right at the top were drowsiness, slurred speech, memory problems, and poor coordination.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

He couldn’t believe Jay even had this stuff. What the hell was he thinking? The answer to that was obvious; hewasn’tthinking. At least, he wasn’t thinking about anyone except himself. He certainly wasn’t thinking about Tag. None of them were. Not one of them had thought to tell him about Jay’s stage fright. It hurt, but, honestly, why was he even surprised? He’d been dealing with people like this since he’d started acting as a kid. Did he really need reminding how different they were from him? Growing up with privilege made you careless, not cruel but blind to others' disadvantage. Jay had charmed him, and Tag had allowed himself to be charmed, but he’d been an idiot to let his guard down. He shouldn’t have forgotten, even for a moment, that in this business, when it came down to it, you were always on your own.