Page 5 of Your Pace or Mine
“I might have something for you, but it’s like pulling teeth to get you in anywhere, Jamie. You need to get your shit together.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jamie asked, his hackles rising at Jonathan’s tone.
“You haven’t been yourself lately, you know you need to work harder now to stay relevant. Make sure people remember you.”
Jamie winced. Jonathan would never say it out right, but he loved to hint at what Jamie should be doing to keep people sweet on him.
“Don’t sweat it, Jonathan. I can be very memorable,” he said, smiling to try to convince himself that Jonathan’s lack of faith in him didn’t offend him. Their relationship had deteriorated in recent months, once the work started drying up, really. Maybe since Jonathan realised Jamie was no longergiving it his all.
Jonathan did love a euphemism.
Jamie wasn’t sure where he stood with Jonathan anymore. Once upon a time, he’d thought there might have been something between them, but he’d tried not to shit where he ate—an edict he should’ve applied across the board, probably. Jonathan’s indifferent attitude of late said a lot about where that might’ve ended up, so Jamie had probably dodged a bullet there.
“This marathon better work, Jamie, because nobody’s biting anymore. You know how people talk, and with word getting around, well… leaving the way you did, didn’t do you any favours.”
Jamie shut down completely at the mention of the disastrous tour that had upended his life.
“You just need something to get people’s attention, and if this is all you’ve got, then you need to give it your all.”
“I am, Jonathan, I swear. I was just out training. I ran eight miles.” It was only a slight stretch of the truth, but Jamie needed Jonathan to see he was taking this seriously, that he took everything seriously. The fallout from his last tour, from his less-secretive-than-it-should-have-been relationship with Stephen, had nearly cost him his career, and he was lucky to still have an agent at all.
“Do you even know how far a marathon is?” Jonathan asked, his voice taking on a condescending tone.
“Like ten miles?” Jamie joked.
The sarcasm clearly fell flat for Jonathan. “Try 26.2. God, Jamie! And you can’t flake on it now.”
“I’m not going to flake on it, Jonathan.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”
Jamie wanted to scream. That was a low fucking blow.
This had been a constant battle over the past few months. When Jamie had bailed mid-tour last year, he was sure Jonathan was going to drop him. He hadn’t, though. What hehad done was constantly remind Jamie how everyone saw him: flaky, pathetic, unserious.
As if you could become a professional dancer without a lifetime of fucking single-minded dedication, as if he hadn’t given everything and more to this industry just to have it rip his heart out of his chest and stomp all over it.
Fuck.
Jamie knew Jonathan was right, though, in a way. He’d been a loose cannon lately and needed to get back on track. Otherwise, he really would find himself without an agent and with no other skills to fall back on. Without a new contract, he’d be struggling to make rent by the marathon date.
Finally getting Jonathan off the phone, he made the journey home. Legs still wobbly, he clung to the railing on the way up out of the tube station. Then he hobbled back to his front door. Despite his horror at having to share his plight with anyone he knew, Jamie realised he needed to bite the bullet and finally call Reggie.
He didn’t even wait for Reggie to get through the perfunctory greetings of friends who hadn’t seen each other in months. He just launched straight in. “I have a situation.”
“Hi Jamie, nice to hear from you! How’s the family?” Reggie replied, the sarcasm lacing his voice making Jamie laugh despite his panic.
“Haha, you’re a real comedian,” Jamie replied. “Meet me for breakfast? It’s on me.”
Reggie snorted. “Well, if it’s on you, this must be an actual emergency. The usual in half an hour?”
Jamie agreed. Their usual spot was a greasy spoon diner just a short walk from his flat, so it gave him a solid twenty minutes to shower and then lie on his bed in pain, feeling sorry for himself.
He hadn’t been there in months, but everything looked exactly the same when he walked in. Same brown tile floor and hardmetal chairs, same overpowering smell of bacon wafting through the place.
“OK, help me understand the problem here?” Reggie asked after Jamie had explained the situation over bacon butties and milky tea.
Jamie had already been through this, but Reggie wasn’t in the business. He didn’t understand how you had to submit to the whims of producers, casting directors, directors—everyone was higher on the totem pole than the talent. Didn’t understand that Jonathan’s cutting remarks were hitting a little too close to home this time.
