The Redhead Series

by Alice Clayton

  I thought of his sweet face, looking lost as I walked away from him today. I’d seen the same sadness in his eyes that was in mine and knew he would miss me. I thought of his smile and how happy I made him when I did something as simple as scratching his head, and my insides actually ached.

  What would he do if he were here now and I was crying? I smiled immediately, thinking of how quickly he’d have me pressed tightly to him, making me laugh through my tears or simply letting me cry it out. And I’d do the same for him. All I wanted to do was take care of him and have him take care of me. We needed each other equally. I knew that now.

  God, I should have gone shopping for him before I left! He’d eat nothing but freaking fast food for the next three months if no one got involved.

  But that was enough sad-sackery. I needed a distraction.

  I pulled out a magazine and laughed ruefully when I saw that he was featured in an article about faces to watch.

  Yeah—no kidding.

  Somewhere over Utah . . .

  I put the magazine down after rereading the pages with my Brit several hundred times.

  The flight attendant nodded toward the article as she handed me a Bloody Mary. “Did you read the article about Jack Hamilton? I could get arrested for the thoughts I have about that kid.” She grinned.

  I blushed and grinned back. “He’s a tall drink of water, that’s for sure.”

  “God, yes. I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to his new film.” She leaned against the aisle seat, making the guy next to me roll his eyes. He’d attempted to engage me in conversation, which I had quickly thwarted. Now I was ready to talk, but about a heartthrob? I’m sure he thought I was nuts.

  Mmm, someone I loved called me Nuts Girl.

  “Yeah, it looks really good. I love me some Super-Sexy Scientist Guy,” I replied.

  “You must be talking about Jack Hamilton,” a voice said behind me, and the woman in 4D popped her head up to participate.

  “Ha! Everyone I know adores that kid,” the flight attendant squealed.

  “Oh, my goodness,” 4D said. “Did you see his last movie? I almost died when he was in that towel . . . gah!”

  “Yeah, he’s pretty to look at.” The flight attendant sighed, and all three of us began to giggle like schoolgirls.

  And I smiled to myself, thinking of the man who’d hit his head on my toilet bowl only hours before.

  When the plane finally landed, I was exhausted. It had been an emotional day, I’d gotten no sleep the night before, and plane rides were always tiring, especially when you imbibed the free Bloody Marys.

  I grabbed my bags off the carousel and made my way toward the line of cabs. When it was my turn, I gave the driver the address of the W hotel, then checked my messages. I smiled as I listened to Holly instructing me to call her as soon as I reached my hotel. I couldn’t help but call Jack and was a little saddened that I got his voice mail.

  “Hey, love, I’m in a cab heading into the city now. Wanted to call and let you know I made it here safe and sound. And I even met a few fans of yours on the plane! I told them I fucked you repeatedly and often, and they seemed oddly shocked by that. Kidding. Well, call me when you get this, I don’t care how late. I want to talk to you before I go to sleep. I love you and miss you already, George. Okay, bye.”

  I sank back in the seat and looked out the window as Queens quickly went by. We crossed the bridge, and as I saw the lights of the city, I began to smile uncontrollably. It was nearly ten and the sky was fully dark. Everything was lit up, and the way the city looked as we crossed the river was magical. Absolutely magical.

  We drove across town through the concrete canyons, the driver slamming on the brakes, honking back at other cabs and at the pedestrians. Hundreds of people were out, crossing the streets, sitting at cafés, pouring in and out of doorways. There was a vibrant pulse to this city, and after the laid-back charm of Southern California, my brain was hungry for the energy of Manhattan. Every time I was there, my heart beat a little faster.

  As we pulled in front of the W the bellman came out to help with my bags, and I was soon whisked inside. While I was checking in, I felt a tap on my shoulder and I turned.

  It was Michael.

  “Hey! What are you doing here?” I exclaimed, hugging him.

  “Holly told me when you were getting in, so I thought I’d buy you your first drink in New York. You’re not too tired, are you? Maybe I should’ve given you time to settle in.” He was dressed casually, like me, in loose khakis, gray T-shirt, Converse. His hair was quite curly in the humidity and framed his dark brown eyes.

  “No, no. I would love that! I’m tired, but it’s not even eight to me. Let me drop off my bags and then we can grab a drink. Do you mind if we have it here?” I said, gesturing to the gorgeous lobby bar.

  “That sounds like a plan. Lemme help you,” he said, grabbing my bags and leading me toward the elevator.

  My room was on seventeen, high enough to have a great view. And since it was the W, my room was tricked out. We were setting everything down when my phone rang. I flopped across the bed to grab it, and when I saw it was Jack, I smiled hugely.

  “Hey, Johnny Bite-Down! How are you?” I asked.

  “Hey yourself. How was your flight?”

  “It was good. Long . . . but good.” I sighed.

  “Sounds like me . . . long and good.” He chuckled.

  “Ha ha, very funny. I miss you already, you know,” I said, dropping my voice a little.

  “I know. I miss you, too. I’m sorry I missed your call earlier. Is it too early for phone sex?” He laughed.

  Michael stuck his head out from the closet, where he had been putting my bags away. “Hey, Grace, do you want this one in the bathroom?” he asked.

  “Yeah, that’s fine, thanks,” I called out. “So, phone sex, can it wait until later tonight? I want to be able to give you my full attention.”

  “Who was that?” Jack asked, his voice curious.

  “Oh, Michael was here at the hotel when I got here, and we’re going to grab a drink after I get settled in,” I answered.

  “Are you in your room?” he inquired, his voice still curious but with a slight edge to it.

  “Yep, he helped me get my bags up here, and then we’re heading back down to the bar,” I answered, rolling my eyes.

  “Uh-huh,” he muttered.

  How cute; he was a little jealous.

  “Oh, Sweet Nuts, I really wish I could see your face right now—along with other parts.” I laughed, and he loosened up.

  “Well, I’ll tell you what. You go have your drink and then call me later. I’m heading out soon, too. I’m actually doing an open mike tonight.”

  “You are? Wow, I really wish I was there for that.” I’d have killed to see him sing on a stage, just him and his guitar.

  “I wish you were too, love. I’ll speak to you soon then, yes?” he said softly.

  “Yes. I love you, George,” I cooed.

  “I love you, too, Gracie.”

  And with that, we hung up. I sat on the bed for a moment, then Michael came back in.

  “I thought his name was Jack,” he said.

  “What?” I asked, coming out of my haze.

  “You said George . . . I thought his name was Jack,” he said, looking puzzled.

  “It is Jack. The George is a long story. Let’s go get that drink.”

  Taking a deep breath, I pushed myself off the bed and headed out of the room with Michael. As the door swung shut behind us, I saw the lights of New York twinkling beyond the window.

  I was finally here—and it was time for me to shine.

  A few weeks later

  I pulled my orange scarf more snugly around my neck and knotted it again so it tucked right under my chin. The air was cool this morning and the leaves fell around me, blown about by a blustery breeze. Sheltered from the wind, I gazed at the scene before me:

  Brownstones. Concrete.

  Yellow
cabs. A deli advertising both pastrami and falafel.

  As I sipped my coffee, I marveled at my life and where it had taken me.

  I loved New York.

  The last few weeks had been amazing—and difficult. It was October now, and fall had officially come to Manhattan. The air was crisp, there were pumpkins on stoops, and I was having the time of my life. I was insanely happy.

  Except, I was really missing my Brit . . .

  For my sister,

  who never recommended that I “tone it down” or “cool my jets” or “settle.”

  I thank you tremendously for this.

  acknowledgments

  To my new publishing family at Simon & Schuster—thank you for taking a chance on a crazy girl and letting her play with the big girls. Thank you especially to my editor, Micki Nuding, for helping me to trust my voice.

  To my Omnific family—thank you for the encouragement and constant support. And especially to my dear friend and editor, Jessica, who has pushed and challenged me in all the right ways. To my parents, who have always been amazing. And to my very dear girlfriends, who I modeled the character of Holly after. Thank you for remaining silly with me. And, finally, to all the Nuts Girls out there . . . schmaltz.

  one

  I pulled my orange scarf a little more snugly around my neck and knotted it again so it tucked right under my chin. The air was cool this morning, and the first leaves of autumn fell around me, blown about by a blustery breeze. Sheltered from most of the wind, I took the opportunity to gaze at the scene before me.

  Brownstones. Concrete. Yellow cabs. A deli advertising both pastrami and falafel.

  I sipped my coffee and marveled at my life, where it had taken me. I loved New York.

  The last few weeks had been amazing—and difficult. It was now late September and fall was officially on its way. The air was growing crisp, the early birds had pumpkins on stoops, and I was having the time of my life. I was insanely happy.

  Except, I was really missing my Brit.

  Let’s go back a bit.

  When I first got to New York, I immediately went into rehearsals for a show in a small West Side studio space. After meeting the cast, I realized just how unique and special this show was and how grateful I was to be a part of it. The music was magical, and the character Michael had created in Mabel (enter me, Grace Sheridan!) was exhilarating to explore. She was in her thirties, a former beauty queen, and having an early midlife crisis as she struggled to define herself after a failed marriage. The show was witty, irreverent, and brilliant. We’d been workshopping for only a few weeks, but the investors and producers were already discussing the possibility of mounting a full production.

  I was maybe about to be in my very first off-Broadway show! This was an ensemble piece, with a cast of fewer than ten, and we had grown exceedingly close. When a brand-new show is put together, everyone inhabits characters who have never been given life before. This lends itself to a lot of introspection and analysis.

  Learning, working, growing . . . I was eating this shit up.

  I spent my days in rehearsal and my nights exploring the streets of Manhattan. I was utterly enchanted with this city. Having spent time here on business throughout the years, I thought I knew it fairly well. No, ma’am. That’s nothing like when you can call New York your home. And though I didn’t know how long I’d be here, I was determined to get the most out of my time.

  As soon as I arrived, I’d begun using my daily runs as self-guided tours. I ran through the Village (East and West), NoHo, SoHo, the Bowery, and made myself quite at home in Central Park. I felt freshly and more deeply acquainted with my new town, and I was keeping my butt in top form for the show.

  I went to museums, shops, and parks, and I saw a show at least twice a week. I still had the same feelings when I went to see live theater that I had when my friends back home took me to see Rent all those months ago: I was emotional to the point of tears, my heart raced, and my palms got sweaty. But this time, when I saw the actors onstage and heard the music and applause, I was filled with pride. I’d made it back into the community I had never—in my true heart of hearts—really left.

  Also, Michael O’Connell (the show’s writer and creator and the friend who’d broken my heart in college) and I were spending a lot of time together. After not speaking for so many years—the result of an ill-timed one-night stand and the subsequent I-can’t-be-friends-with-someone-I-slept-with game he played wholeheartedly—we were slowly but surely beginning to know each other again. He was still delightfully funny, and he made my transition to New York a seamless one.

  When the rest of the cast found out we’d gone to college together, they were fascinated. We all spent evenings at least once or twice a week having cocktails at different bars around the theater district and telling stories about our wilder days. Michael and I never acknowledged our night together. Speaking about it in a group setting was obviously unthinkable, but we never spoke of it privately either—we just didn’t go there. I simply relished having my good friend back, and he was one hell of a tour guide.

  In addition to my self-guided tours, I had his suggestions, and I was experiencing the city as an insider. It was enthralling. Spending time with Michael made it easier to deal with being away from home, and he definitely helped me focus on the show and my part in it.

  And Jack Hamilton, my much-missed Brit? Well, this was a bit of a pickle . . .

  We spoke on the phone at least once a day, usually more. We sent buckets of texts back and forth, usually laced with enough smut to make us blush if we read them in the company of others.

  He tried several times to come for a visit, but between MTV appearances, countless interviews, and meetings for the upcoming movie he was starring in, we just couldn’t get it worked out. I tried to get back to L.A. a few times as well, but my rehearsal schedule was so intense, there was no way for me to leave. We both understood the demands our careers were making, but that didn’t make it any easier.

  Long-distance relationships typically work best (if at all) when the couple has been together a lot longer than we had. We went from a brief intense period of cuddle and sex and love to zero face-to-face contact—and it was proving more difficult than we’d thought it would be.

  But we kept things spicy as best we could. The phone sex, the online sex, the pictures sent on the iPhone: hot. If anyone ever stole my phone . . . oh man. His fans would implode.

  Nighttime was the hardest. I really missed having my Sweet Nuts in bed next to me, warming my skin with his sweet breath as he kissed on me, his hands around my breasts as we snuggled in for sleep. I missed that the most, and I was having trouble sleeping, even though I was usually exhausted after a day of rehearsal.

  I had made some new friends, and I bonded instantly with Leslie, who played my nemesis in the show. Her character was everything I used to be: young, pretty, young, talented, young, and a bitch. Leslie was also hilarious in real life, and when we realized we were both entertainment-gossip junkies, we had something else to bond over. It killed me to not tell her who Jack was, but I knew it was best that he and I keep our relationship under wraps. As far as the cast knew, I was seeing an actor who lived in L.A. Only Michael knew the exact truth. And he was strangely silent about the whole thing.

  But something was up with my Brit.

  He was going out—a lot. Which was fine, because frankly, at twenty-four, that’s what you do. He was playing a few open-mike nights, and I was sick over not getting to hear him. I really missed listening to him play, especially the action soundtrack he’d compose each morning as I got ready. With the three-hour time difference, I usually talked to him at night, before I went to bed and before he went out. I was also in occasional contact with Rebecca, his costar in the soon-to-be-released movie Time, which was guaranteed to make them both household names. We texted from time to time, and she informed me that while she remained on full Skank Patrol, the masses were definitely starting to covet the Hamilton with a fren
zy.

  Jack starred as Joshua, a time-traveling scientist whose cinematic escapades were based on a series of wildly popular erotic short stories. The stories’ fans had begun to transfer their affections to Jack, and they were getting quite . . . hmm . . . excitable. Women were really into him, which I totally got. The fact that he shared my bed made my understanding that much more complete.

  Heh-heh, you sleep with him.

  Yes, yes, I do.

  He was always dealing with fans, and from what he told me, they were generally polite and kind but the constant scrutiny was beginning to get to him. One night he called late, really late. Or I should say really early. It was after 4:00 a.m. East Coast time.

  “Hello?” I mumbled.

  “Hello, yourself,” he whispered thickly.

  I rolled over to look at the clock. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?” I asked, sitting up in bed.

  “Nothing’s wrong. Does something need to be wrong to call my girlfriend in the middle of the night?” he asked, his voice a little rough.

  “No, of course not, but it’s crazy early here, Jack. Are you sure nothing’s wrong?” I pressed as I lay back down.

  “Wrong, no. Weird, yes, definitely,” he said, his voice still sounding strange.

  “What happened, love?” I asked, pushing back a yawn.

  “Some girl grabbed my ass tonight! And then another girl— Oh hell, Grace. Are you sure you want to hear this?”

  “Hmmm, I don’t know, do I? Tell me—you didn’t grab her ass back, did you?” I laughed, letting him know I was okay and he could share without judgment.

  “I was walking out to the car after leaving this club, and there were cameras, of course,” he muttered.

  This was a fairly new development. Paparazzi were taking more and more pictures of him, and it wasn’t uncommon for me to see him on E! or TMZ at least once a week. It was weird seeing your guy on Entertainment Tonight, but that’s how we rolled.