The Redhead Series

by Alice Clayton

  I had only ever seen her this worked up when Donnie Wahlberg was involved. “Jesus, fine. Calm down. Yes, I will freaking read them,” I said, noticing that Jack was coming toward us.

  “Jack, listen to this,” Holly called. “Grace hasn’t read the Time short stories. She’s never even heard of the movie!” she said as he walked onto the terrace.

  He stared at me dramatically and then swept me into a close hug. “Run away with me,” he said quietly, pulling back to look at me, placing a hand on each side of my face.

  I chuckled nervously and then got control.

  “Are you asking random women to run away with you, Jack?” Holly asked, and he dropped his hands from my face, looking at me in mock adoration.

  “Random? I meant it!” he said. “I told you before: the next female I met who hasn’t heard of this silly little film, I’d run off with and have a tasty little tryst to satisfy the gossip magazines. How lucky am I that she seems normal?” he joked back.

  “I really wouldn’t rush to judgment on that yet. You don’t know how abnormal I am,” I stated, placing my hands on my hips.

  “I have to tell you, Jack, she’s not right in the head,” Holly said, warning him. “You don’t want any of this. Believe me, I know. I’ve known Grace since college, and she’s insane.” She knocked back the last of her cocktail.

  “Wait—is this your best friend Grace? The one who leaves piles of Chex Mix around the house?” he asked, looking back and forth between us.

  “Yep, this is my Gracie. Now ask her why she leaves piles of Chex Mix around the house,” Holly said teasingly.

  I gave her a look. “First of all, thanks for telling my tales all over town, ass. And to clarify, it is not piles all over the house. I happen to not care for the little melba toasts, so whenever I eat Chex Mix, I set them aside. That way, if anyone else wants them, they can have them,” I said, showing Holly my middle finger.

  “I happen to love the melba toasts,” Jack said, laughing at Holly’s face when she realized that this seemed to make perfect sense to him.

  “Well, next time I have a pile, I’ll save them for you. Then if you’re ever in some kind of toast emergency—”

  “I’ll have some on standby. I feel good about this plan,” he said.

  I noticed the two girls Jack had been talking to inside coming out to join us on the terrace. They approached from both sides as Holly began pulling me into the house.

  “I’ll see you later, dear. Make sure you come and say good-bye to me before you leave,” she said over her shoulder as we walked back across the slate tiles.

  “Let me know when you’re ready for that tryst,” I shot over my shoulder, winking at the girls, who looked a little stunned. I couldn’t resist.

  “You, me, melba toasts.” He grinned back at me.

  “Since when do you invite groupies to your house?” I asked once we were inside.

  “Groupies? Oh, those two? Sweetie, the blonde is an entertainment lawyer and the brunette is a PR exec. But Brit boy over there turns them all into giggling idiots.” She smiled knowingly as I looked back over my shoulder at the three of them on the terrace. Jack was standing between them as they jostled to get closer. He caught my eye and smiled that same sheepish grin.

  Wow, a lawyer? Those short stories must be damn good.

  An hour later, with the party finally winding down, I was in the kitchen getting some crackers to begin soaking up the five dirty martinis I had sucked down. I was leaning on my elbows on the granite countertop, thinking about how my head was going to hurt tomorrow, when I heard someone come in.

  “Hello again,” I heard a British voice say.

  I looked up, still half-lying on the counter. “Hello yourself. Did you have a good time tonight?” I asked before shoving a saltine in my mouth.

  “Oh, no. Crackers—that’s never a good sign. Too much?” he asked.

  “Maybe, if you consider three more than I usually have too much.” I grimaced, remembering the last time I had been hungover. I was really not looking forward to tomorrow.

  “I find that the best cure for a hangover is to just keep drinking,” he said, smirking. He walked toward the other side of the counter, placing his hands on either side of me.

  “Yes, well, that’s because you’re like seventeen and capable of shit like that. I, on the other hand, will wake up tomorrow feeling like something died in my mouth, with my eyes puffed up like cabbages.”

  “Wow, that’s a really descriptive picture. I’m almost tempted to stick around and see that.” He laughed. “And I’m twenty-four, not seventeen, for future reference,” he added.

  I arched my eyebrow at him. Young pup. I used to be able to drink and dance all night, get one hour of sleep, and go to work the next day still looking fabulous. Ah, to be young and foolish again . . .

  I stretched my arms over my head and then back behind me, trying to work the kinks out. When I looked at Jack, I realized that I had basically just thrust my chest in his face, and he was letting his eyes linger.

  “Are you looking at my boobies?” I asked, doing a little shimmy-shake.

  He froze and then burst out laughing. “Yes, yes, I guess I am looking at your boobies. They’re quite nice boobies,” he managed to choke out between laughs.

  “They are quite nice, that’s true. And all mine. You probably don’t get to touch a lot of bona fide natural boobies here in L.A., but there are still a few of us rocking the real stuff.” I laughed along with him.

  “I also think you like men looking at your boobies. Why else did you put sparkles on them?” He finally looked me in the eyes again, still chuckling.

  “What are you talking about?” I looked down at the girls and noticed that I did have a few sparkles on my cleavage. “Oh yeah, I guess I did. I put on a little shimmer body lotion before I got dressed tonight.”

  “Girls sure do weird stuff. Especially you American girls. So much shimmer and sparkle. Who told you tits were supposed to sparkle? Sorry, boobies,” he said, correcting himself.

  “You can say tits, although I prefer boobies. I also like ta-tas,” I said with a straight face.

  “How about love pillows?” he retorted.

  “Breasticles?” I said.

  “Uhhh, how about flapjacks?” he asked, struggling not to laugh.

  “Nice, but it doesn’t hold a candle to sweater meat,” I managed to get out before laughing so hard I sprayed saltines all over the counter. He joined me, and I actually had tears streaming down my face as we started wiping up my cracker spittle.

  Holly walked in at that moment, took one look at us, and started shaking her head. “Oh boy, what the hell is going on in here? Never mind. Jack, your ladies are looking for you. They’re salivating all over the entryway; it’s time to take them back to your place. Grace, why are there cracker crumbs all over your cleavage?” she asked, staring at my saltine-encrusted chest.

  We both started laughing again as I extended my hand.

  “Jack, it was very nice to meet you. I hope next time I can contain myself a little more. Enjoy your threesome,” I said with a wicked smile. This guy was great, and I was excited to have maybe made a new friend.

  He took my hand. “Grace, it has been interesting, to say the least. And your sparkly boobies are beautiful. Enjoy your hangover.” He shook my hand and laughed again as he left the kitchen, giving Holly a kiss on the cheek as she walked him out.

  I watched him leave with his blonde and his brunette, thinking about how much fun this evening had turned out to be.

  Holly came back after showing the last of her guests to the door, took one look at the party fouls all over the place, and said, “Clean this shit up in the morning?”

  “Or the afternoon?” I asked, holding my head.

  “Deal. Let’s go to bed,” she answered, locking up as I turned out the lights. We trudged upstairs, discussing the evening as we made our way down the hall toward our rooms.

  “That was a great party, Holly. I’m r
eally proud of you. You’ve done everything you set out to do, and nothing has stopped you. You kind of rock.” I smiled at her and gave her a hug at her door.

  “Yeah, I have kicked some ass. Now go vomit. I know you want to,” she said, pointing me toward my room.

  “I really do. Night,” I said over my shoulder as I went to collapse.

  “Night, dillweed. Seriously, Grace—five dirty martinis?” was the last thing I heard her say as I shut the door and fell onto my bed.

  Right before I slipped into sleep, I thought about my sparkly boobies and laughed.

  three

  The morning brought hellfire and brimstone, and that was just what I threw up. When I first opened my eyes, which took several minutes of prying through mascara goo, I knew that this was possibly going to be the worst day of my life. I never, repeat never, have more than two cocktails. I simply can’t handle it anymore. I would love to pretend that I can still hang with the younglings, knocking back cocktail after cocktail and feeling no pain, but that was no longer me. I felt the pain—oh, how I felt the pain.

  I attempted to get dressed, but gravity defeated me and I made my way out into the hall in an old button-down shirt, leaving my shorts on the floor of my bedroom, where they had finally given up the fight. After repeated tries at balance, I made it down the hall, hugging the wall and then the banister for support. I could smell coffee, and as if it were a beacon, I was drawn to it. I could hear Holly talking on the phone, and I moaned at her damnable cheeriness. Holly never got a hangover. Bitch.

  “Yes, right now you’re scheduled to do MTV on the seventh, and then you have an InStyle photo shoot on the twelfth of that same month,” she said, smiling at me.

  I poured myself a cup of coffee, wrapping my hands around the mug and inhaling deeply. I might feel human again in about a day or so. I burped and thought, Well, maybe a few days.

  “Listen, mister, do you have any idea how hard it was to sync up all the calendars for you guys? Half the cast is going to be there. You have to do the photo shoot on the twelfth. At least it’s here in L.A., so there’s no travel involved. Yes, I know this fall you’ll have plenty of travel. Honestly, Jack, sometimes you sound like such a little bitch.” She laughed as she gestured to me to sit down.

  Knowing I was on borrowed time with my legs supporting me, I sank into one of the comfy armchairs in her breakfast nook. As I sipped my coffee, I thought about meeting Jack the night before and smiled, thinking of what the other side of this conversation must have sounded like.

  “She just woke up. Yes, she appears to be quite hungover. Hold on, let me see,” she said, looking carefully at me. “Jack is asking me to inspect your eyes to see if they look like . . . wait, what? To see if they look like cabbages?” She looked at me strangely.

  “Tell Hamilton I said to suck it,” I groaned, oddly pleased that he remembered our conversation with such clarity—and surprised that I did, as well.

  “She said, ‘Suck it, Hamilton.’ No, she really did say that,” she answered back as I laughed quietly to myself. “He wants to know exactly what he is to suck, Sheridan,” she responded, rolling her eyes.

  “Tell Hamilton that he has it exactly right: he is to suck Sheridan,” I yelled, making sure he could hear but splitting my own head open in the process.

  “Okay, that’s enough of the telephone game. You guys can continue your last-name foreplay another time. Jack, I’ll speak to you later. What? Jesus. Fine, I’ll ask her. Good-bye—I’m hanging up now.” She clicked her phone off and set it on the counter, looking at me carefully.

  “What? What are you looking at me like that for?” I asked, grinning.

  “You tell me. Why is he asking me about your sparkly boobies?” she asked, raising her eyebrow at me.

  I lowered my head to my coffee mug, fighting to not smile wider.

  Holly took good care of me that day: she left me alone except to bring me Sprite and saltines. I managed to control the crumb fallout this time. I pretty much stayed on the couch. After a day of hangover hell, I must have fallen asleep, because when I woke up, it was dark outside and Holly was gone. She had left me a note and a stack of magazines on the coffee table next to me.

  Lush,

  Here are the stories you promised you’d read. I’m out for dinner with clients. I shouldn’t be home too late. Call me if you need anything, and clean yourself up. You look like shit.

  Love you,

  H

  Holly was right; I did look pretty sorry. I headed up to my bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth. I needed some energy, so I changed into my bathing suit and grabbed a towel. As I walked through the house I saw the stack of magazines marked with Post-its on the table again, and after rereading her note, I took them with me out to the pool deck.

  High up in the hills, Holly’s house had great views from three sides. It was California modern, with an open floor plan and lots of natural light. It even had a sound system that worked throughout the house and on the patio. I plugged my iPod into it and selected my favorite playlist of quiet-time U2 songs.

  The best part of the house was the infinity pool, which had the nicest view of all: downtown L.A. She even had the requisite hot tub, which is where I ended up after swimming laps for about thirty minutes. One of the ways I had gotten myself back into shape was swimming at least three times a week.

  I relaxed in the hot water, letting the jets massage away the last remnants of the alcohol and the way it had kicked my ass today. I took a sip from my water bottle and my gaze fell on the stack of magazines.

  Oh, what the hell. You promised.

  As I began to read, I remembered how insane Holly had looked when she described her reaction to the stories. I had some trepidation, to say the least, as I didn’t want to succumb to the madness that so clearly had her in its grip. Sexy scientist Joshua, huh? We’ll see . . .

  I was really getting into it when I heard voices from inside the house. I glanced in and saw Holly and a tall, good-looking man approaching the French doors, making their way outside to where I was. She was dressed in a black wraparound dress with gorgeous snakeskin sandals.

  Damn, she looks good. She must have had a date with that tall drink of water . . . Wait, is that Jack?

  As they stepped out onto the patio, I realized this wasn’t the same guy I’d met last night, and yet it was.

  This was not the scruffy Hollywood hipster I had been bantering with in the kitchen. This was a very handsome man dressed in a dark gray suit and tie, clean shaven, with gorgeous shaggy blond curls. The night before, he’d had a baseball cap on and I couldn’t see the perfection that was his hair. I had a weakness for curly hair.

  Crap, hide the magazines. HIDE THE MAGAZINES!

  I quickly threw my shirt over the stack next to me, composing my face in what I hoped was a neutral expression.

  “Hey, Gracie. I see you’re feeling better!” Holly said as they closed the distance to the hot tub.

  “Much better. I took a swim and now I’m just relaxing.” I was at a disadvantage, sitting so much lower than them, but Jack squatted down, resting on his heels.

  “Hey, Sheridan. This is very Hollywood of you. Hot tub, moonlight, view of the city . . .”

  “Strategically placed jets of water for my enjoyment,” I retorted.

  Holly groaned. “Jesus, Grace, you are too much,” she said, laughing.

  “That’s true; I am too much. Now hand me that towel. I’m pruning here,” I said. Holly obliged and then sat down in a chair, kicking off her high heels. “So, what are you guys up to tonight?” I asked, taking the hand Jack had offered to help me out of the water.

  I noticed him glancing down at my black racing suit. It wasn’t as flashy as a bikini, but I wasn’t out there for a Sports Illustrated cover. The way he was looking at my toned legs, flat stomach, and strong arms, I would say those workouts were paying off. I shook my long hair, squeezing the water out before toweling off my body and slipping into the chair next to Holly. Jack to
ok the seat facing us as we talked.

  They had attended a dinner for People that night, and Jack was quite a hit. I got the sense that this film was a much bigger deal than I had realized, and he was getting quite a bit of buzz. They had spent most of the night meeting industry people and working the room.

  That was what made Holly so good at her job. People forget that it is called show business for a reason, and it takes a lot of work to launch a career in the right way. All too often, a young talent gets lost in the shuffle of a hyped movie and then, without the right follow-through, they’re last year’s news. Holly was great at making sure that the actors she managed worked on projects that challenged them creatively as well as succeeded commercially. To do that you had to work the room sometimes, as they had done tonight.

  While Jack joked about some of the funny people they had met and all the Time hoopla, I got the sense that he wasn’t quite comfortable with it. That was good—too many hot new actors lose perspective, and they burn out fast.

  Then Holly started to tell stories about when we first moved out to L.A. so many years ago, and I knew it wasn’t going to be long before she embarrassed me.

  “So, there was Grace, and she’s singing her little heart out for this director. She’s convinced she’s going to get the part. She’s giving it her all, and when she’s finished, she stands center stage, looking like she deserves a Tony for this performance.” She paused, looking at me.

  “Yeah, so there I am, thinking I nailed it. I was finally going to get cast in this new musical! Then I noticed that the director was dressed awfully casually for this audition. Way too casually.”

  “Like, he was wearing a jumpsuit and had a bucket of cleaning supplies and a mop next to him!” she screamed, collapsing on Jack’s shoulder in laughter.

  “What? Why was a director dressed like that?” he asked.