CHAPTER FIVE
Jack
The limousine collected us on time and at six-fifteen p.m. it pulled up in a large pedestrianized square outside Théatre du Chatelet.
The square was cordoned off with barriers to keep fans and photographers separated.
The old Art Deco theatre presented innovative, boundary-pushing works.
Huge posters displayed the same back-to-back image with the title translated to ‘Besoin de savoir’.
I wasn’t sure if the film was dubbed or subtitled, but it would be fun to find out!
A valet opened the car door and after our close protection officers were in place, I stepped out first to be immediately assaulted by a wave of intense flashing lights, screaming fans, and a melee from the photographer’s pit where they roared my name to get my attention.
I held a hand up to protect my eyes from the bulb flashes.
Nate stepped out after me, pausing by my side.
On seeing him the assembled crowd of fans ramped the screaming up a notch.
We had a hundred-meter red carpet walk to the venue, so there would be lots of photographs, and press interviews for sound-bites. Nate leaned in,
“Smile like you mean it, Jack! See you on the other side,” he said as if we were preparing to go into battle, which I suppose we were!
Roz got out of the limo with Avery and then with a scowl she said, “Hector, Dimitri, no one touches unless the talent consents, okay.” The two men nodded, and with Hector as his shadow Nate was then led off to begin his interviews and photo calls.
It’s every actors dream to walk the red carpet in a shit-hot tuxedo with all eyes on them.
I’ve always aimed to be humble and remember that I’m lucky to be in this position.
But still, I’m only human, and having people screaming at me for existing was pretty overwhelming.
In this moment everyone was desperate for me to look their way.
I took a calming breath, schooled my features, and turned to Lucy, “Time to shine,” I said then put on a winning smile and moved off into the fray with Lucy, Benji, and my bodyguard Dimitri at the rear.
At events like this, the first thing I always did was head for the crowd of fans to sign autographs before the photographers got their claws in.
I’d be nothing without my fans and I appreciated them.
I then relied on Lucy and my PR to look out for me and guide me to the journalists I was scheduled to talk with.
I’d then be positioned in a photo call with my co-stars.
The press who’d missed out on the junket because of ‘unforeseen circumstances’ of the day before would finally get a few minutes with Nate and me before we were whisked off into the venue.
I worked the crowd swiftly, thanking the fans who’d made the effort to travel here to meet me.
It was wonderful and overwhelming to see the fan art that was thrust in front of me.
I collected what I could and passed it to Benji.
At last he was useful! For several frantic minutes I signed whatever I could and posed for photos with fans.
But then I was distracted by a sudden cold, creeping feeling.
I took a quick glance to my left to the main photographer’s pit where a scrum of men and women were roaring at Nate, directing him to “Look to your right, that’s it,” and “Hey, over here!” A figure dressed in black put down his camera and vaulted the barrier.
The Asian man appeared young, and wiry. He had a determined look on his face as, to my horror; he started to run, barrelling straight for Nate.
Everything stopped, the world of camera flashes and noise vanished, and I didn’t think to alert Dimitri.
There was one focus. I dropped the pen and ran.
Nate was oblivious to the oncoming danger.
It all happened so fast. The man was shouting something that sounded like “Heil, heil!” I didn’t understand it.
Was he some kind of homophobic Nazi? I threw myself bodily at the man and brought him down to the ground in a Rugby tackle.
We wrestled, and as he tried to elbow me in the face, I flipped him onto his belly, and then straddled his thighs.
He writhed like an eel as I pulled his arms back and clasped his wrists.
He was roaring and thrashing beneath me.
“Where is he, where is he, heil?” he said nonsensically.
Moments later Hector and Dimitri were at my side.
A cable tie was threaded around the man’s wrists.
I let go of him and stood up. I straightened my tuxedo jacket and ran a hand through my hair.
It was then that, like a slap to my face, the world swept back in.
Fans roared, some were crying, and the flashes from cameras blinded.
Turning in a circle, I took a bow and grinned, receiving wild applause.
The guards hauled the man to stand up and to my horror I saw a small sliver knife on the ground.
It had been underneath him. The man was holding a fucking knife while running towards Nate.
The fucker had planned to stab him. I pivoted and couldn’t see Nate.
In my confused state Lucy and Benji then manhandled me up the red carpet and into the theatre lobby where we were then directed into an office.
The initial feelings of bravado swiftly morphed to horror.
“Nate, where’s Nate?” I said dazedly. “He had a knife, oh my god, he had a fucking knife!” I could hear the shock in my voice, and looking down at my hands, I was trembling.
Moments later Nate was stepping into the small office.
Our gazes collided, and then he pulled me into a tight hug.
“What the fuck, man, what the fuck!” he said in an emotional rasp.
“He had a fucking knife,” I gasped.
“I didn’t see him coming. You saved my life,” Nate ground out as he held onto me.
I wanted to keep a hold of Nate, protect him with my body, but after a tight embrace I eased him back and took his measure.
Not a hair was out of place. Nate Linden was just as handsome and put together as before, whereas I was sweating and trembling.
I felt strangely confined, trapped in the bespoke tux.
I had a compulsion to rip all of my clothes off, as if they were cursed.
But I did no such thing. I took a series of deep breaths and gave whatever deity was listening thanks for my quick reflexes.
A vision of what could have happened if I wasn’t so quick flashed into my adrenaline-soaked brain—of Nate being stabbed by the crazed man—it made my stomach lurch.
The small office was soon crowded with our reps.
The alarmed chatter around us was like a demanding flock of seagulls outside a chippy.
Roz was, of course, the loudest bird. I desperately wanted them all to shut the fuck up.
A woman I didn’t know stepped into the office, and in French accented English she stated,
“SILENCE!” The hubbub settled. “The police ‘ave been called. It is best you will stay in here until they arrive.” She sent her gaze around the room. “Where is Avery? In the circumstances I need to understand do you wish to cancel the event?”
Roz spoke up before Avery could get a word out. “Delay the event for forty minutes so we can talk to the police, but the show goes on,” she said decisively, without asking anyone else for our opinion. None of us had the balls to disagree with her.
The police arrived surprisingly fast, and then everything was a blur.
The attacker was in custody. I was led to another office, and gave my statement to a detective.
Nate was questioned separately. It’s not as if the police had much to do at the scene.
We were surrounded by photographers and TV cameras, along with fans taking phone footage.
I bet the attack was filmed from every possible angle.
Thirty minutes later the police had finished with us.
The guests were already seated in the auditorium, so Nate and I were led through the Art Deco Theatre, down carpeted hallways lined with framed historical playbills, to the backstage area where we would wait for our cue.
The auditorium was full. I could feel the frisson of excitement in this old building, like a wave washing over as the chattering of guests filtered through the thick red velvet drapes.
At my side Nate was quiet and pensive. These kinds of events were always nerve wracking without a nutter attempting to attack my co-star.
Raised voices and footsteps pulled my attention away from Nate.
The script writer Brett Kahn, director Emily Jarvis and two producers entered the low-lit backstage area.
Brett looked dapper and quirky in a red floral suit with a yellow bow tie.
He rushed up to us and gave us both French style kisses on our cheeks.
“Oh my god, guys, I can’t believe someone tried to attack you!
” Brett gasped camply. “Jack Boyd. You are my fucking hero! Have you guys seen social media? People are going crazy over the footage of you leaping on the attacker. I’m glad you’re both okay, but my god, we could not buy better publicity,” he beamed.
“We were talking to the cops, haven’t seen anything online,” I replied flatly.
“Of course, of course,” Brett sympathized.
“Let’s just get tonight over with, yeah. We can deal with the fallout tomorrow,” I suggested.
Nate spoke up then, “Dude, I gotta say, you look amazing!” he said cheerily, ignoring talk of the attack.
“It’s custom, by Percival,” the writer revealed.
“Bold choice, I love it!” Nate replied behaving like nothing unusual had happened. Was he dissociating?
“Are you ready, gentlemen?” Theatre compere Genevieve Rousseau asked. Nate reached for my hand and I turned to meet his gaze. I could see the change in his eyes; his baby blues had lost their sparkle. Was he scared? Did he think someone would try again? My heart lurched.
“I’ve got you mate!” I said as I gave his hand a tight squeeze. Our bodyguards stepped out first, and we followed them onto the stage into dazzling spotlights, near deafening applause, and a standing ovation.
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