Page 2 of Need to Know

“No not mash, it was a spud gun. Oh, come on, you must have spud gun’s in the US…you’ve got every other kind!”

The thought of Jack playing Bond games as a kid with a gun firing potato was frickin’ adorable and the urge to laugh harder nearly wrecked my composure. But I took a breath, remembered that we were on camera, and held it together.

Becca cut off our banter by addressing her phone camera. “Well, Cine-Geeks I was lucky enough to be at last night’s press preview and oh my god, this is a thrilling, sexy movie!” Becca then looked up at us.

“I have to say it, guys, the chemistry between you two is off-the-charts. I can’t recall watching a movie where I actually felt like a fly-on-the-wall seeing a real relationship play out,” she gushed.

All of our interviewers noticed the on-screen chemistry. It’s a rare and wonderful thing to have the kind of spark that I share with Jack. But the flip side of this, journalists love stirring the pot. They’ll happily forget that we have real lives and relationships.

“That’s so kind. Actors want to take the viewer with them on the journey. It sounds like we did our job, right!” I replied with a smile.

“You most certainly did! Now tell me, Jack, after a successful career in the UK working on period dramas, and fantasy shows, what was it like to have your first US project partnering with Nate Linden?”

Jack chuckled and I felt the rumble of it in my balls. I turned to meet his smiling, puppy dog eyes and awaited his response.

“I suppose I’ve been a fan-boy of Nate’s since I saw him in Heading South,” he revealed in his warm, cut-glass British drawl. In the year I’d known Jack he’d not mentioned this!

“Oh my god! Seriously? That was my first big TV job,” I said aghast.

“I’ve gotta fess-up…I thought you were sooo dreamy,” he grinned, full of mischief. “My sister downloaded the first season on Limewire,” he admitted.

I hid my face in my hands to cover the embarrassment. At this moment I felt so damn old. The soap opera was made back in 2013 or 14, such a long time ago, another lifetime.

Jack spoke on. “When my agent told me she had a gay romantic thriller script for me and the part was to co-lead with Nate Linden, honestly, I nearly bit off her hand to read it,” he charmed. “As you said, I’d never worked in the US before, and I was in the middle of season six of Harmon Hall. Flying over to the US for an audition was too tricky for my schedule, so my agent arranged that Nate and I do a video call chemistry read with the producers. As soon as we started chatting I kind of knew in my gut that, yeah,” Jack placed his palm over his heart, “This is my next gig. I got the call a few hours later to say the part was mine.”

I’d known while on that call that Jack was special. When we’d initially conversed, he was friendly, amenable and of course, very easy on the eye. But as soon as we began reading as Gabe and Aden, something clicked. It was as if Jack had thrown a switch inside and became a different person. From the way he looked at me, to the mannerisms and the nuances of his accent, he became Aden Baker. Our back and forth was intense, the chemistry rare, almost magical.

“So, it was fated,” Becca sighed, mirroring Jack by placing a hand over her heart. Jack turned his head and his warm, playful eyes affixed on me.

“I guess you could say it was fate. Nate made my job very easy,” Jack reached out and placed a hand on mine. “It’s a beautiful thing to have a scene partner who just gets me, y’know. The fact we’re both gay meant that there was a level of intimacy that we were both familiar and comfortable with. We brought that to the characters and their relationship. I mean, have you seen Nate?” My co-star chuckled. “It’s not difficult to pretend to fall in love with him!”

Jack was joking, right? Sometimes his British sense of humour tied me in knots. I didn’t know if he was teasing me, toying with journalists to whip up publicity, or speaking his truth. No matter, I just hoped that Erik didn’t watch this particular interview. At times my husband saw out-of-context interview clips, and if I was shipped with an actor, he could become jealous and controlling.

Becca directed her attention to me as she asked, “Nate, how did you approach the sex scenes? Were they scripted or did you…improvise?”

“We worked with a fantastic choreographer and an intimacy co-ordinator to block out our moves and touches, as if it was…I suppose you could say… a dance. It made the intimacy flow, and so, yeah,” I replied with a grin. I felt Jack’s eyes burning me as I spoke but I didn’t dare turn my head to meet his gaze because I knew my eyes wouldn’t lie.

“Oh, I improvised a lot,” Jack stated slyly. “The pool scene, do you remember that? That was a blast.”

My memories went back to that day. We’d moved production to the Turks and Caicos Islands for three days and the house we were using for the night shoot was a gorgeous white stucco villa that backed onto a beach of fine golden sand. And so, while the crew was setting up, Jack and I relaxed on the beach, swam, and enjoyed paradise. Then we got to film a sensual sex scene in a swimming pool, followed by a shootout and our daring escape hanging onto a rope ladder attached to a helicopter. It was a blast!

****

CHAPTER TWO

Jack

Two Weeks Later

Nate strode out of the hotel suite bathroom looking less than his put-together-self. I’d never seen him so angry. “That asshole blindsided me—on camera,” he roared. “For fucks sake Avery, what the hell does the studio pay you for? Did you check his question list? Roz, you’ve got to get that footage back or I swear to god!—”

I observed the unfolding drama from the relative safety of the balcony of Nate’s room at the Peninsular Paris five-star hotel, with my press agent Benji Moss at my side. Ordinarily, the view at my back, of the Champs Elysee and the iconic Parisian cityscape would grab my attention, but what was happening in Nate’s suite was more important. I met the bloodshot eyes of my press agent and we shared a grim look, but said nothing.

Nate’s agent Rosamund Appelbaum, or Roz as she was more commonly known, was in her early sixties. She wore a severe gun metal grey bob cut and a baby pink power suit. Apparently, she was a member of one of the oldest, wealthiest families in New York and naturally, she had connections to get things done. Roz was the kind of agent who didn’t need the money but loved the hustle of the entertainment business. She had a small pool of very famous clients, and she lauded over every aspect of her client’s career. In a way, she reminded me of an overbearing pageant mom. On first meeting Roz she appeared motherly and quite innocent, but I soon learned she was as innocent as a lion the moment before it pounced! Roz pivoted to pin the studio publicist with a dagger glare.

“Avery, what the hell?” she growled at the harried man setting up a laptop on the dining table. Roz’s nasal New York accent could peel paint. I usually did my best not to be in range when she had a full head of steam. She pointed an exquisitely manicured finger at the PR man.

“You told me the questions sent by La Galerie des Murmures were okay!” she barked. I must add that Avery worked for the studio, not for Roz. He’d royally fucked up, but I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. The poor bastard was having an emotional breakdown. He seemed to fold in on himself with each ear-splitting word. It didn’t take long for Roz to break him. Avery’s blue eyes filled with tears and his chin wobbled.