The Redhead Plays Her Hand

by Alice Clayton

  Life was good.

  An impromptu dinner party ensued, and after dinner was over, we all ended up on the cushiony chairs in the backyard. Winter in Los Angeles was chilly at nighttime, at least enough that the cashmere throws I brought out were necessary. Snuggled into a large love seat, Jack played with my hair as we laughed and chatted with our friends. Strings of white lights dotted the fig and plum trees out back, and the potted lemon trees that framed the patio threw off their fragrance into the night. I leaned into Jack’s warmth, his breath heady and thick with brandy as he and Holly went back and forth about his shooting schedule. He’d be leaving in a few weeks, but this was different from when we’d been apart in the past. This time I got to stay here, in my home that I’d worked so hard on and barely gotten to enjoy before heading off to New York. Now I was able to work where I lived, and I relished my surroundings.

  I had created a space for myself exactly the way I wanted. Built into the hillsides of Los Angeles there were certainly bigger and grander homes, but my Laurel Canyon bungalow was exactly what I wanted. And having Jack move into it with me? Well, that made it all the more homey.

  As Holly and Jack got louder and louder, trying to hammer down some interview she had planned for him, I leaned across to Michael.

  “You still looking to rent a new place?”

  “Yep, the corporate housing has been fine, but now that I’m setting down some roots I think I want something a bit more distinct. This agent I have, though, is showing me all these rentals on Wilshire—in the corridor, all those high-rises. They’re great, but I just left New York. I’d like something a little closer to the ground.”

  “I can see that. Roots, hmm . . . Do you want to buy? Great time to buy,” I prodded.

  “Not quite that rooty. I still want to rent. I want rental roots,” he answered, causing Holly to stop midstream in her conversation with Jack.

  “I’ve got a great rental agent. I’ll have her send over some listings. You want a house? Pool? Standard L.A. bachelor pad?”

  “House, yes. Pool, perhaps. Bachelor pad, no. No neon.” He grinned.

  “I can totally find you that. I’ll go with you to look at houses next week if you want,” she offered, sipping at her brandy.

  “That’d be great. You sure you have time?”

  I snuggled closer to Jack.

  “Of course. I can take an afternoon off. The business will still be there. And speaking of business, Jack, we need to talk about—”

  “Holly, don’t you ever quit? Enough for tonight, okay?” Jack snapped, surprising us all. We turned to look at him as he ran his hands through his nonexistent hair. He sighed, then gulped the rest of his brandy. With heavy eyes, he looked at Holly.

  “Sorry. I think I’m just tired,” he muttered, eyes falling back down to his glass.

  “No worries, Jack. We can talk tomorrow. Call me in the morning?” she asked, pushing herself out of her chair with a quick glance at me.

  I shrugged my shoulders and stood as well. “You’re leaving?”

  “I should get going—early meeting tomorrow with some kid with three names. When did everyone decide to name their children with such long names? If I see one more Noah Jonathan Blahblah I will lose my mind. Truly,” she exclaimed, pulling Michael out of his chair. “Come on, you can walk me to my car.”

  “Okay, sure, yeah, of course. Um . . . ’night, Grace! See you later, Jack,” Michael called back over his shoulder as they made their way into the house.

  “’Night,” Jack said, wrapping the blanket more firmly around himself. I waved at the two of them, then turned to stand in front of him.

  “You okay?” I asked, taking his empty glass and setting it down on the table. I was pulled quickly into his lap, his strong arms wrapping around me suddenly and completely. I was pressed against him, his body caging me in, close to him.

  “Sometimes, I swear, she just doesn’t know when to quit!” he exclaimed, sighing into my neck as he clutched me closer.

  “She’s just doing her job, Sweet Nuts. Don’t take it personally.” I snuggled further into his arms.

  “How can I not take it personally? It’s my life she’s managing, not just my career. I just— Fucking hell, I don’t know.”

  “Hey, hey. I know, shush,” I soothed, scratching his scalp and feeling him relax into me. His brandy breath was heavy around us, and I was reminded once again of how young he truly was. No one could possibly have prepared him for the life and all its trimmings that had been thrust upon him when he took his defining role. He held up remarkably well, all things considered.

  We quietly rocked for a moment, the canyon still and quiet around us.

  “Hey, did I tell you the good news?”

  “What’s that, Crazy?” he asked, his lips tickling now at the edge of my shirt. Apparently he had rallied.

  “I get my own trailer! Can you believe that?”

  “Of course you get your own trailer. You’re the star of the show, love,” he reminded me.

  That still did not seem real to me.

  “Listen, it’s a pretty big deal. Not all of us are big film stars,” I reminded him, settling more firmly on his lap.

  “Now when you say big, what exactly were you referring to?” he asked, gently but firmly thrusting up against me.

  “Oh, please.” I laughed as he buried his face into my neck, blowing brandy-scented raspberries.

  “I’m proud of you,” he whispered, his hands now roaming freely across my back, familiar yet still very much capable of making me shiver. “Are you cold?”

  “No, George, I’m all kinds of warm,” I breathed into his ear, shivering once more as he literally swept me off my feet and inside to our bed.

  two

  So tonight, I’m heading to this club and I thought—” he said the following morning.

  At least I think that’s what he said. I was under the shower spray, and someone had his hands all over my breasts. Keeping me steady, of course, just for balance.

  “You’re going out again tonight?” I spluttered.

  “Again? I was home last night,” he answered, leaning underneath his own showerhead. The shower he had installed boasted his and hers nozzles. Although more often than not we ended up on one side or the other.

  “True, but you were out almost every night last week.”

  “Is this where you turn into a nagging girlfriend?” He winked, letting the water stream off his face and down onto his chest and tummy, making the happy trail stand out even more. It sure made me happy.

  “I think so. Hang on, let me put on my nag face,” I said sternly, frowning in an exaggerated way. “Honey, don’t you think you should stay home and clean out the gutters?” I whined, putting my hands on my hips and stomping my foot. An action that would have been more forceful had I not slipped as I did it. He caught me, laughing as I struggled to stay upright. He gave me a light smack on the bottom as he put me back on my feet.

  “As it happens, I was going to ask if you wanted to come out with me tonight.”

  “Me? Go out with the boys club? Seriously?” I teased, handing him a washcloth.

  Jack had been spending more and more time with some of the guys from his new film, something I initially encouraged him to do. For all the lip service he gave me about loving The Golden Girls, I reminded him often that he was a young guy about town and needed to live it up. Lately he had taken me up on my offer, almost too willingly at times.

  “Sure, why not? I figured it was about time you met these guys. These are the guys I’m supposed to be willing to die for, right?”

  “In a movie, love. Die for them in a movie. Will there be dancing?” I asked.

  “I imagine so.”

  “Will you be dancing?”

  “I’m British. We don’t dance.”

  “Can I dance?”

  “I’m counting on it. Jesus, Grace, you should see yourself right now.” He sighed. I was leaning back under the spray, and was I making sure my breasts were
pushed up high and perky? Yep.

  Nice. Posing for your man?

  Can’t hurt.

  I felt his mouth beginning to drag down the side of my neck, and I came up for air.

  “Hey, we can’t do this now, Sweet Nuts. I’m meeting Holly in forty-five minutes, and she gets testy when I’m late.”

  “I only need five minutes; just hold still, Crazy.”

  I laughed as he slid his body up mine, every nerve ending sparking to life. But water and sparks don’t play well together, and I held him at arm’s length.

  “Seriously, I can’t. Holly won’t let me use sex with you as an excuse to be late.”

  “How do you know? Try it.”

  “Shush, you. Shower gel, please,” I instructed, pointing. He handed it to me, we lathered, and I tried to go about the business of washing up. Which was hard.

  Because so was he . . .

  Because so was he.

  Twenty minutes later, he sat on the bench at the end of the bed while I got ready.

  “So tonight? Yes?” he asked, handing me my bra. Which he held with reverence. I think he was jealous that it got to hold my boobies all day, something he would prefer to do.

  “Yes, tonight. Can I bring Holly? She’s been dying to go out dancing. We can make a night of it!” I said excitedly, standing in front of him and running my hands over his scruff. It was taking some getting used to, but I was kind of digging it. He looked older and younger all at the same time. It was mesmerizing.

  “Bring everyone you want, love. Just text me the names, and I’ll tell Adam.”

  “Adam?”

  “Adam Kasen, from the film? He’ll make sure whoever we want is on the list,” he replied, nuzzling into my palm.

  “‘On the list’? You going Hollywood on me, George?”

  “This from the girl taking a meeting today to discuss her shooting schedule for her new TV series, right?”

  “Wow, my new TV series. Can you say that again?”

  “‘My new TV series’?”

  “Nope, my new TV series.”

  “That’s what I said, exactly.” He grinned as I threw my towel at him. He growled as I danced away from his grabbing hands.

  “You better go to your meeting, you little tease, before I keep you here all day.”

  “Okay, I’ll see you later tonight then?”

  “Yep, I’ll be the one in the corner with the posse behind the velvet rope.” He nodded, laying back on the bed, the sheets still tussled from our previous activities.

  “Perfect. This pussy loves a posse,” I teased as he rolled his eyes at me.

  “You have five seconds to get out of here, Grace.”

  “Leaving,” I yelled as I headed toward the kitchen, grabbing my water bottle off the counter.

  “Hey, Crazy?” I heard his feet slapping behind me on the hardwood.

  “Yes?” I smiled as he stuck his head around the corner.

  “I saw a couple cars that looked really familiar yesterday down the hill. Watch yourself out there, okay?” He smiled, his eyes burning into mine.

  “No pics. Got it.” I mock saluted.

  “Don’t let them make us into the next Ashton and Demi. People love to see a couple fall apart.”

  “Did you really just compare me to Demi?”

  “Sorry. I guess you’re a little older, right?” he teased, tugging on my ponytail as I slid a ball cap on.

  I used to tease him so much about wearing his ball cap, and now I hardly went anywhere without one, especially when driving in my neighborhood. I was fanatical about making sure no one knew where we lived. I knew it couldn’t last much longer, but I wanted to keep our bubble around us as long as possible.

  “Seriously, George? How often do these little jabs work out in your favor in the long run?” I glared, letting him smooth out my ponytail.

  “Just be careful out there, ’kay?” he said, his eyes concerned.

  “I will, love. See you later.” I nodded, blowing him a kiss.

  “I got something for you to blow . . .” I heard him muttering as he headed back into the bedroom.

  I giggled, grabbing my keys and heading out into the sunshine.

  Even in winter, Los Angeles was golden. I smiled to myself as I crossed to my car, pausing a moment to take in the lemon trees, the thick carpet of pine needles on the lawn, the beige Taurus driving not too slow but not too fast either— Wait, what? I hurried behind the steering wheel, getting in just as it drove past the large pine at the edge of the property. Most of the houses on this part of Laurel were set back from the road but not too far.

  Paranoid much?

  Paparazzi were almost a daily concern. Running into them was no longer an occasional surprise, it was borderline becoming a nuisance. Jack’s new car had been spotted multiple times, although somehow we’d been able to avoid being tracked back to the house. But it was getting dicey. Once, when he was being followed very closely on Robertson, a car in front of him stopped so quickly he almost ran right into it. Shots were taken of him looking grimly over the steering wheel, ball cap pulled down low. This was beginning to take its toll on Jack. It was a side of his fame that no one could prepare for.

  I’d managed to avoid getting my picture taken with him again, although we both knew it would happen sooner or later. But that was part of it, being the girlfriend of the new It Boy.

  Girlfriend.

  I was his girlfriend, and along with that came all kinds of stuff we were both barely equipped to handle. When we came back from our vacation in the Seychelles in January, I had to stay behind with the luggage when we landed at LAX. The paparazzi who camped at the airport just waiting for celebrities to come off an airplane tired and bedraggled and less than were there to trail Jack. Someone, always someone, had tipped them off that he would be arriving, and they swarmed as soon as he showed up. And they took tons of pictures. He later told me he could barely keep hold of his duffel bag, they were so close and so tight on him as he made his way to the car we’d arranged to pick us up. In the meantime, I was waiting by the baggage carousel, watching and waiting. And paying a porter to help me quietly schlep all our stuff into a taxi.

  Since we’d been back we kept a pretty low profile. We didn’t run a ton of errands together, and if we did go out, we kept it off the beaten path and low-key. We lived together, we loved together, but we kept things as private as we could. Holly was still very much in favor of this tactic. Since Time, his female fan base had grown considerably, and there was an online presence that continued to grow.

  This was a fan base still very much on the fence about whether they wanted their Jack Hamilton involved with anyone, much less a woman quite a bit older than he was. After the pictures of me taken at the premiere came out, and subsequently died down, his adoring fans had moved on from me. But I was about to embark on my own high-profile job. The TV series would bring those pictures, and more like them, back up and into the spotlight.

  I kept this in mind as I opted to keep the convertible top up. I cinched the ball cap down tighter on my head and turned out onto the canyon to make my way to Holly’s office. With my eyes peeled, I looked for those seemingly random tan sedans. That’s where the flashbulbs tended to come from. It was amazing how quickly you could get used to looking behind you when you were moving forward.

  three

  Okay, so we have the first three scripts done, shooting schedule in place, read-through next week. What else do we need to talk about? You know us TV stars, we have places to go, people to see.” I winked, stretching from my chair in front of Holly’s desk. The two of us, along with Michael, had been hashing over details for the better part of an hour.

  Michael had fought for and managed to retain creative control from the network. This was his show, his creation, and while being funded solely by the network, he was still steering the ship. He was working closely with the director, making sure that as his show twisted and turned naturally from stage production to the small screen it retained its ini
tial soul. David Lancaster was a well-known and well-respected director, who had worked on some of the best and most commercially successful series in the last ten years. He was also known for being a bit hardheaded, tough, and unyielding. He’d already shared some specific notes with Michael, and they were in agreement about the overall tone and content of the show. While Michael had experience in writing and directing, he’d never done it at this level, and he was understandably a bit nervous.

  “Almost done. Just a few more things to talk about, and then we can call it a day.” Holly shuffled some notes on her desk.

  “Thank God. I’m starving,” I moaned, standing and grabbing at some candy she had stashed on a shelf underneath her award for Manager of the Year. Which she had awarded herself.

  I sat back down, offering a handful of jelly beans to Holly, which she shook her head at. She and Michael exchanged a glance, and Michael nodded at her slightly. She took a deep breath and then sighed. Then she brightened into her All-Business Face. All of this happened in about 2.7 seconds, none of which was lost on me. I gulped. Holly turned to face me now, and I heard the voice I had heard often but rarely directed toward me.

  “So we got some notes from the producers after they watched the pilot. All good things, but I do have some feedback for you that they were pretty specific on, before we start shooting,” she said—Holly Newman the agent now speaking, not Holly Dillweed, best friend and gal about town.

  I swallowed my jelly beans. “Okay, what’s up?” I asked, wondering what was about to go down.

  Michael fidgeted.

  “So you know you’re fabulous; we all do. I think you’re amazing. I mean it, really,” she said, not totally meeting my eyes.

  “Okay, you’re amazing too?” I volleyed back, looking at Michael, who had stopped fidgeting and was now not moving at all. He was frozen, in fact.

  Holly smiled a bit, then continued. “This show has a very specific look, very stylized, very Hollywood. Everything about this show will be over the top. You know this.”