Page 70 of Your Pace or Mine
“I know,” Darius replied, though Jamie wasn’t convinced he believed it. “You okay here for a minute?” Darius’s eyes drifted towards the kitchen, clearly hoping to grab a bit more sustenance.
“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” Jamie replied with a fond laugh. At least Stephen wasn’t there at the moment.
Jamie took a moment to centre himself and look around the room. He’d been here before, but it had been a few years. There were a few people he knew, either personally or by name and reputation, dotted around the various tables. Everyone was dressed in finery they could probably barely afford for this one night of opulence in the often gruelling, rarely well-paid world of theatre.
“I know what you did,” came a soft, feminine voice. Stephen’s fiancée had shifted into Darius’s seat.
“Sorry?” Jamie replied. He wasn’t sure if he was asking her to elaborate or apologising.
She laughed. “Are you?”
Then, downing her champagne in one gulp, she continued. “I’ve forgiven him for his indiscretion. I understand he must have been lonely being away for so long, but it’s disgusting that you would take advantage like that. I’m aware of how this business works, I’m not naïve.”
“That’s… good,” Jamie replied uncomfortably.
She nodded. “But I don’t ever want to see your name billed on tour with him again. I won’t let you embarrass me further. The way you’re using that lovely man with you tonight is disgusting. I hope you’re ashamed of yourself.”
She returned to her seat, leaving Jamie embarrassed and confused by her ability to not see her fiancé for what he was, asif it was Jamie’s fault. As if Stephen wouldn’t fuck the next new, desperate performer that fell into his lap. Jamie couldn’t believe he’d ever thought he loved him. He hoped that wasn’t what everyone thought of his and Darius’s relationship.
He looked around, desperate for a friendly face. The room was grand, a massive Phantom-esque chandelier hanging overhead, and a red velvet curtain pulled across the imposing stage where the awards would start shortly. Jamie’s observations were interrupted by the return of Stephen, another man in tow who introduced himself, but Jamie was barely listening now as the two chortled to themselves in that self-congratulatory manner only real fucking arseholes seem to manage. Jamie tried to put on his most charming, stage-ready grin despite his growing unease.
Darius wasn’t back yet.
Maybe he’d got chatting to someone. Even as he thought it, a pool of dread formed in his stomach.
He wouldn’t just leave him there to fend for himself, right?
Jamie fiddled with the teaspoon in front of him, the only remaining piece of cutlery. Waiters were circling with tea and coffee now; they’d soon clear away the table settings for the show. Stephen was saying something to him, but it all sounded like white noise to Jamie. He stood abruptly, the cloth napkin falling from his lap to the floor as he strode quickly and purposefully out of the ballroom and into the reception area. He didn’t find Darius there, though. He didn’t find Darius anywhere in the building. He stepped into the street to find him waiting on the corner, suit soaked through with rain.
“Is everything okay?” he asked, reaching for him, but Darius moved away, just out of his reach.
“I don’t know, Jamie, is it? Have you made a good impression? Everyone want you on their next tour now? Lots ofauditionscoming your way?“ There was something in Darius’s tone that set off alarm bells ringing in Jamie’s head.
“What is this about?” he asked slowly.
Darius laughed bitterly. “Remember back when we met, back when this all started, you told me you were great at charming people, finding out what they wanted and offering just what they need.”
He looked Jamie dead in the eyes. “You could have saved us a lot of time if you’d just said your strategy was to shag your way to success. I wouldn’t have fucking bothered with this.”
Jamie felt like he’d been slapped. “That’s not fair. I don’t, I haven’t been...”
He didn’t really have a defence, though. “What did you hear?” he asked.
It was the wrong thing to say.
“Get back inside, Jamie. Make it clear to all those people you need to impress that you’ll be fully available in every way, that you’re ready and willing towork. That’s what you wanted, right? Your career back on track, well, there you go. You got your name in the papers, and now you’ve got another shot at stardom. This was all just a farce anyway. I thought, maybe you really saw me. Not just the name or the money, but obviously, I was wrong. You knew what was on the line for me, my reputation, my family, but I was always just another rung on the ladder for you.”
This was falling apart too fast, and Jamie didn’t know how to stop it. His anger at Darius’s assumptions was at war with his desire to explain himself and salvage whatever was left of them, because he really believed they could be something.
A black car rounded the corner, pulling to a stop in front of Darius.
“Maybe I should have taken a leaf out of your playbook? Maybe sucking Anders’s dick would have solved my careerproblems—seems to be working alright for you. Is it fun for you? Using people?”
Oh, fuck no.
“You don’t know shit about my life, Darius Hewitt. You have no idea how hard it is for normal people to get ahead. I’m fucking talented, okay. I’m a brilliant fucking dancer, but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t mean shit if you can’t get in the room. You think I’ve done some horrible, unethical thing? Look in the fucking mirror. What paid for your training? How many lives were ruined to build the fucking castle you grew up in?” Jamie was on one now. Everything he’d held back over the past couple of months was pouring out of him as they stood with the rain falling over them, barely noticing it soaking through to his skin.
“You know what I was going to do tonight? I was going to take you somewhere, just the two of us, to tell you I love you. To tell you I wanted to be with you for real. But maybe you’re right. Maybe this isn’t us at all, it’s just been fucking fake, like everything about you and your over-privileged, sheltered life.”
