The Redhead Series

by Alice Clayton

  It is an entirely different thing to be on the outside watching the pandemonium than it is to be inside it, part of it. No wonder Jack had started using security.

  Nick and I stared at the hundreds, maybe even thousands, of women standing and screaming and waving signs that said things like MARRY ME, JACK, and TAKE ME BACK IN TIME, and, my favorite, LIE ON TOP OF ME, JOSHUA.

  Nice.

  I took one last slug of vodka, and our limo pulled up to the red carpet. We were early enough that none of the cast was here yet, but that didn’t stop the crowd from screaming when they saw the door open, and the cameras immediately started flashing. Nick strutted a bit before turning to help me out of the car. I was semigraceful, managing not to flash my business at the crowd. Jack had asked several times if I would please go commando, which I steadfastly refused to do. But he made sure to tell me he was going commando. Jesus.

  Holly had made me show her my panties to be sure I had some on.

  When the press realized we weren’t anyone, the flashes stopped almost instantly, but a few asked who we were. Nick had been down the carpet a few times and gave his name. Someone asked for mine and without thinking, I gave it as well. Then I noticed a few of the photographers looking at me more carefully, and I heard the word redhead. I saw a few more flashes in my direction, and my flight instinct kicked in. I hurried Nick down the carpet.

  “Why’re you rushing me, girl? I am shining,” he said, a smirk on his face. The women in the crowd were actually cheering for him. They were so amped up, anyone with a penis would make them shriek.

  “I’ll meet you inside. I need to get off this carpet,” I said, glancing at a photographer. This one was following me. I could see him peripherally, and he was continuing to take pictures. I looked the other way, trying to hide my face.

  “How will I find you?” Nick asked.

  “Just find the bar. That’s where I’ll be,” I answered and made for the door.

  Right before I got there, the photographer got close enough for a tight shot. He said my name, and I turned. Someone says your name, you look.

  “Are you the redhead we’ve seen with Jack?” he yelled over the noise.

  I tried to shake my head, not willing to say anything.

  He looked at me carefully. His eyes widened as he put it together. “Fuck me, you are! You’re the redhead! Jesus, how old are you?” He snapped a few more pictures as I almost ran inside.

  Unbelievable.

  Once in the lobby, I found the bar directly. This was exactly what I’d been afraid of—that someone would recognize me from the pictures taken of us over the summer and in New York. I was shaking. It was naive of me to think I could come here and not ruin this for Jack. Fuck.

  I ordered a double dirty martini, light on the dirty.

  I tried to calm down, foolishly thinking maybe the photographer would forget my name in the chaos quickly developing outside. So what if he had my name? No one knew who I was. But he had my picture, and he’d identified me as the redhead.

  Shit, this was bad.

  And clearly there was no question about whether I looked older than Jack. I sucked down the booze. I wasn’t usually much of a drinker—strictly a two-cocktail limit—but tonight I needed all the liquid courage I could get.

  I watched from my vantage point as the venue became more and more crowded. There were movie posters everywhere, and the mob was growing more and more wound.

  I was working through my second double martini (to say nothing of at least three shots on the drive over) when I heard the crowd hit fever pitch. Nick had found me by then, and we made our way to the window to watch the show before the show.

  The cast was arriving, actors with smaller roles first. It was a carefully orchestrated event. Rebecca soon appeared, and I was happy I’d get to spend time with her. She was a very cool chick. And then Lane was so cute. He was a natural on the red carpet, chatting with reporters and fans alike.

  Suddenly, everyone got quiet. There was only one star not there, and one last limo had just pulled up.

  And then Jack opened his door.

  Utter. And. Total. Pandemonium. Ensued.

  Women cried. Women fainted. Women yelled. Women screamed.

  Jack stood and took it all in.

  He was my Jack, and he was their Jack. He was Hollywood’s Jack. He was a movie star.

  He worked the red carpet with a mix of self-deprecation and cocky strut. He owned that freaking crowd. He was a natural because he was not a natural.

  He took pictures with the cast and kept really close to Rebecca. These two were going through something so specific and stylized, and I was glad they had each other. I was grateful to her for helping him. And I had a feeling he calmed her as well.

  Eventually he made it inside. I watched him work the room, looking around. For me? For his dad? Before I had a chance to get to him, someone else found him.

  Marcia.

  She was beautiful in person. She was poured into a gorgeous black dress, and her legs may have been six feet in length. She was radiant; she was stunning; she was young.

  I was feeling no pain.

  I watched her make eye contact with him from across the room. It was like freaking West Side Story. His eyes lit up as he saw her. They walked through the crowd toward each other, and I was frozen to the spot, unable to tear my eyes away.

  Just friends. Just friends. Just friends.

  My aunt Fannie.

  You don’t even have an aunt Fannie . . .

  Shut it.

  Have another cocktail, why don’t you?

  Great idea.

  I was kidding.

  They hugged like old friends. Old friends who’d shared something profound.

  He caught my eye over her shoulder, and I raised my glass and an eyebrow to him.

  He flinched and actually had the decency to look a little embarrassed.

  I saw him talking to her, and I saw her turn to meet my eyes. She smiled warmly, and I smiled back. What is the opposite of warmly?

  Coldly.

  Yeah, yeah. I like that.

  This is going to end badly, isn’t it?

  Saddle up.

  thirteen

  As Jack walked Marcia over to meet me, I set my empty glass down and tried hard not to fidget. But I was a fidgeter from way back. Even Jack had noticed it, and he knew when I was nervous.

  Upon arrival, he immediately took my hand and squeezed it. “Don’t fidget, Crazy. You look beautiful,” he whispered.

  I smiled at him and turned to Marcia. She was still smiling brightly at me.

  “Marcia, this is Grace,” he said, and my heart actually stopped when I heard him say her name. At one point he’d probably said it the way he said mine.

  “Grace, I’m so happy to finally meet you. He talks about you all the time,” she said, and leaned in to kiss both my cheeks.

  Ah, shit. I don’t want to like this bitch.

  Jack smiled. He was enjoying this.

  I kissed her back and smiled.

  “Yes. I’ve heard a lot about you recently as well,” I said, and she blushed a little.

  “I know. Can you believe the rumors that get started?” she said.

  Jack smirked as if to say “I told you so.” I gave him a sharp look, and he just rolled his eyes.

  “I need to talk to you,” I whispered in a low voice, trying to convey urgency. I needed to tell him what had happened with the photographer.

  “Oh, I already know what you want to talk about. That was the topic of conversation on the carpet out there,” he whispered back, arching an eyebrow and staring down at me.

  “I don’t know what happened. I was just trying to get inside and—” I started, then Marcia interrupted me.

  “Your dress is beautiful. Where’d your stylist find it?” she asked.

  “Oh, I, uh, I found it myself. Bergdorf’s. New York,” I stammered. This child was freaking me out, and I hated that. I wished I had another drink.

  “Oh,
that’s right. How are you enjoying Manhattan? It’s a wonderful place to live, isn’t it? Are you planning to sell your house here?” she asked, locking eyes with me.

  Hmmm. She knew an awful lot about my plans.

  “I don’t know yet what I’m going to do. It all depends on what happens with the show, doesn’t it, Sweet Nuts?” I asked, leaning farther into his arm as he wrapped it around my waist.

  “Sweet Nuts?” she asked, wrinkling her nose.

  “Private joke,” I said, kissing on Jack’s neck.

  With radar as good as the military, Holly swooped in just at that moment and took Jack’s arm. “I need you for a few minutes before the film starts,” she told him. “Come with me please? Ladies,” she said in parting, shooting me the hairy eyeball.

  “Ladies, I’ll see you in there,” Jack echoed. “Grace, we’ll talk about this later. Don’t worry.” He tried to lean in to kiss me, but Holly Go-Cockblocker was right there.

  “Please,” she said, and pulled him away with a furious glance at me.

  “I’m sorry,” I mouthed, then realized I was alone with Marcia.

  “So,” I started, and she looked at me expectantly.

  But the universe was kind and sent me an angel. I felt giant pawlike hands wrap around my waist and lift me into the air.

  “I wondered if you’d make it back for this circus,” a sexy voice purred, and I turned to look into a pair of ice-blue eyes.

  “Lane!” I cried and gave him a big hug.

  “Fuck, you look hot, Grace,” he said, stepping back to give me the once-over.

  “Thank you, dear. And you are always pretty.” I laughed.

  Just then Lane noticed who I was standing with, and he choked back a laugh. “Well, this looks interesting. What’s the topic of conversation, girls?”

  We laughed a little uncomfortably, and then Marcia spoke up. “You know, everyone expects we wouldn’t get along simply because of a media-created story, but I can tell I like you already, Grace.” She smiled warmly.

  Again with the warmly.

  And how the hell did all these twentysomethings get so damn mature? When I was her age, I was struggling with college math and trying to figure out how to buy a new Jeep Wrangler. They were like mini adults.

  Lane burped.

  Thank Christ. Now I smiled warmly.

  “Marcia, I’m sure once we get to know each other we’ll get along just fine. Now I’m going to find my date—a gay man, since I can’t be seen in public with my real boyfriend. I should leave before someone takes our picture and writes a story about you with an unidentified redhead,” I said with a wicked grin.

  “Ah, good idea. It was wonderful to meet you, Grace. You’re just as pretty as he said you were.” With a smile and a graceful turn, Marcia walked back through the crowd. Not a hair out of place, not a wrinkle on her dress.

  I really didn’t want to like her, but I knew I would.

  “Lane, Lane, Lane.” I sighed and leaned back against him. I motioned to the bartender for another.

  “We gettin’ shitty tonight, Sheridan?” he asked, winking devilishly at me.

  “Lane, I’m a grown-ass woman with a mortgage and a huge Bergdorf’s bill. I don’t get ‘shitty.’ But I am getting knee-walkin’ drunk.” I lifted my glass toward him. “You in?”

  “Shall we drink to your newly outed relationship?”

  “How the hell do you know about that?” I asked, eyes going all buggy.

  “That’s all anyone is talking about out there. Three reporters asked me if I knew about you, and how long Jack had been with the older redhead,” he said.

  “Great. I went from unidentified redhead to older redhead.”

  Next thing you know, you’ll be the portly pepper-pot redhead.

  Shut it.

  I sipped my drink and looked expectantly at him.

  “Hell, yes. Let’s get it on!” He laughed and asked for a shot.

  We joked and talked as he attempted to calm me down. He felt certain this would totally blow over.

  “So, where’s that hottie friend of yours—Holly?” he asked.

  Again with the freaking radar, Holly instantly appeared at my side, taking notice of my third cocktail. What she didn’t know was it was my third just since getting here.

  “Breaking the two-drink rule tonight, are we?” she asked, then ordered one for herself.

  “Holly, how are you?” Lane asked.

  Holly’s eyes went wide as she noticed my drinking buddy. “Lane. Nice to see you again. I’m well, thank you. And you?” Her voice seemed a little quivery.

  What the hell?

  “I’m great. Nice shoes,” he murmured, looking down at her red heels. She blushed all the way to the roots of her hair, then turned back to me.

  “Listen, Jack saved seats for you and Nick right behind him and his dad. You should go in before they do, though, so you aren’t walking in together. We’ll continue to deny this as long as we can, although you giving your name to the paparazzi was not too smart,” she admonished.

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “Let’s not talk about it tonight. We’ll play this off. I just need to think about how,” she said.

  “Where are you sitting, Holly?” Lane asked.

  “I’m sitting with my client,” she said, and turned back to me. “Scoot. Nick’s waiting for you.” She gave me a little push.

  I drained the rest from my glass and set it on the bar. I was starting to feel a little unsteady on my feet, but I kept it together—in exactly the way someone who’s been drinking thinks they’re fooling everyone. I heard Lane say something to Holly in a low voice, then Holly shot back, “Later!” But I couldn’t miss the excited flush to her skin when she said it.

  This was a weird night.

  I circled the room looking for Nick and found myself semi-hidden behind a potted palm. I noticed a well-dressed older man talking with Marcia, and as I heard his accent, I realized he was likely Jack’s father. He was tall and very distinguished, and I caught a glimpse of Jack in thirty years or so. Classy. And here I was hiding behind a potted palm.

  Jesus, could I get any more After School Special?

  He definitely knew Marcia, though. They were having quite a chat.

  I totally listened. Their talk wasn’t so small.

  “I like her. I think she’s good for him,” Marcia said. My chest burned.

  “She is lovely, but I do wish he’d mentioned how much older she was.”

  “Well, Jack’s kind of an old soul, and she seems to have a positive effect on him. I haven’t seen him this happy in a while,” Marcia said, suddenly my biggest fan.

  I was such an asshole . . .

  “You haven’t met her yet?” Marcia continued, leaning in.

  “No, not yet. I thought Jack might introduce her last night, but at the last minute he canceled our dinner and decided to eat with her instead. I suppose I’ll meet her later. I wonder if Jack will make it through the film, though. You know how he feels about watching himself on-screen.”

  They both laughed.

  I headed for the theater before I could hear anything else about my being an old bag, and I finally spied Nick by the door.

  “Where the hell have you been? Holly’s ready to have a cow,” he said, hands on hips.

  “Oh, would you settle down, please?” I said, listing slightly.

  “Grace, you’re drunk,” he said, sniffing me.

  Very nearly.

  “I’m just pleasantly lit, so back the fuck up, pretty boy,” I said, loudly enough to attract the attention of a few people walking in to take their seats.

  “Oookay, let’s get you inside,” he said and took my arm.

  We went down almost to the front, then slipped into the second row. I saw Rebecca talking to the director and waved exuberantly. She smiled and waved back, then whispered to him. I could tell she said the word girlfriend, and they turned to look at me.

  Ah, well.

  I saw Jack enter the th
eater with his father and Holly, and they all walked down to the front row. He winked at me as he passed and gestured me over. Nick helped me out of my chair, and I leaned across the back of the front row.

  Jack stopped in front of me and went through the introductions with his father. This was now officially the most fucked-up night of my life. I was meeting my twenty-four-year-old boyfriend’s father at the Hollywood premiere of a movie in which he had the starring role. And I was well on my way to public intoxication.

  “So, I finally get to meet the mysterious Grace who has my son so thoroughly charmed,” Jack’s father said as he reached for my hand, which he quickly brought to his lips.

  I was the one thoroughly charmed. “And I get to meet the man from whom Jack obviously got his good looks. I can’t tell you how pleased I am to meet you, Mr. Hamilton.”

  “You must call me Alex. I must be on a first-name basis with any woman who has swept my son off his feet the way you have, yes? Although I daresay that if I’d met you first, my son would have had a little competition.” He chuckled, and Jack rolled his eyes.

  “Well, Alex, I daresay that I’ve always had a thing for older men, especially those from across the pond,” I bantered back. Jack’s father was still holding my hand.

  “Well, there’s something to be said for those of us who have a little more life experience, isn’t there? Something Jack will no doubt learn as he gets a little older as well.” He smiled again and released my hand to slap Jack on the back.

  I might be more than a little tipsy, but I could still small talk with the best of them. At least, as far as I knew. According to my internal drunk-o-meter, I was cool as a cucumber and not at all showing the effects of my numerous cocktails. No effects at all . . .

  The three of us chatted warmly for a few more minutes until the director headed up to the stage to make a little speech before the movie began. I accepted a kiss on the cheek from Alex before returning to my seat in the second row, behind Jack. He turned and leaned in just as I was about to sit down.

  “I got this for you. I know you like a little snack while you watch a movie.” He smiled and handed me a box of Milk Duds.

  “Candy!” I exclaimed, ripping the box out of his hands with a little too much enthusiasm. I heard Nick sigh next to me as I tried to open the box. Then Jack offered to help me.