The Redhead Plays Her Hand

by Alice Clayton

  As weird as a world where you have your name on a chair and people asking you if the right kind of bottled water is in your trailer.

  Touché.

  Jack had been glad to get out of town and to the desert for this new film. His mind was already in character, and he’d been working closely with the other guys in the cast. They had a week of boot camp before they started shooting, and he was really getting into it. Boys. They liked to run and jump in the mud. They just don’t always look so good doing it . . .

  My own boot camp had consisted of cucumber and air, twice daily workouts, new hair extensions, a deeper shade of red, and a spray tan or two. I was down nine pounds, but luckily I had kept the girls. Jack would be grateful.

  I may have also bought new boots for the boot camp.

  “Hey, how’s the new house, by the way?” I asked Michael.

  “It’s great. Moving in next week. That Holly, she really has this town on lockdown, doesn’t she? She found that house in one afternoon. Everything I wanted, she found it.”

  “I’m glad she’s on our team. She is not someone I’d want to mess with.” I laughed, straightening in my chair as David, the director, approached. David Lancaster was known for being hard on newcomers. So far he’d been easygoing, nice . . . funny even. But I knew he’d had something to do with the notes the producers had given about my weight, and I hadn’t been able to get a good read on him yet.

  “Grace, you ready to shoot?”

  You got this; you got this; you got this. You. Got. This.

  “Good to go, David,” I answered, my voice coming out in a squeak, which quickly turned into nervous giggles. “Might be a little nervous.”

  “No problem. We’re going to start off slow today. We’re set up to start with the kitchen scene: your ex has papers for you to sign, and he brings along his new girlfriend. You got the rewrites last night, right?”

  “Yep. They’re great,” I answered, winking at Michael.

  “Okay, let’s get set up on your first mark. We changed the blocking a bit. We’re going to have you behind this potted plant to start with, okay?”

  Behind a potted plant, huh?

  My first day on the set of my own series I learned that craft services can do a lot with cucumbers and air.

  That night I went to bed early. Being a TV star was hard work.

  Did you really just say that out loud in your own head?

  Totally. Danced around a bit too.

  Before bed I walked through the house, closing blinds and double-checking the locks. I always did, but now I was extra careful. As I was sliding between the sheets, Jack called.

  “Hey, sweet girl, how was your first day?”

  “It was exhausting! But awesome. How was the mud run?”

  “Also exhausting, but awesome. But really, how did it go?”

  “What do you know about potted plants?”

  “What?”

  He laughed as I flipped out the light and snuggled down to recap my day with my Sweet Nuts. I talked shop, and he wisely let me fumble when trying to explain what a key grip was. As we were winding down, I heard someone in the background.

  “Who’s that I hear? Another one of the grunts?” I yawned. He and the other guys in the cast called one another grunts. It was so hard for me to control my eye rolling.

  I think you just did . . .

  “Right. Adam and I are heading into town to this dive bar. Apparently lots of bikers hang out there!”

  I heard Adam laugh. Jack was obsessed with American culture and dying to take a road trip.

  “You and Adam, huh?” I asked, twisting the sheets in my hand.

  “Sure, why?”

  “Nothing. I was just hoping for a little phone action with my Brit tonight,” I whispered, my skin dancing with just the idea of it.

  “Oh, you were, huh? What exactly did you have in mind, Grace? What’s got your knickers in a twist?”

  “Fuck. You had to say knickers, didn’t you?” I moaned into the phone.

  “I know it makes you crazy, Crazy. Wish I could get you sorted, but I’ve got company and—”

  I could hear Adam laughing again. “I can’t hear this! Get off the phone and let’s go!”

  Jack told him to shut up.

  “No, it’s okay. You go,” I told him. “Get in a biker brawl. Just make sure you stay away from the assless chaps, okay?” I frowned slightly.

  Calm down. He’s twenty-four. Of course he’s going out.

  “Call you when I get home?”

  “No, call me tomorrow. I’ve got an early call time, and I need to fit in a run before I head to the studio.”

  “Listen to you, you’re like an old pro.”

  “That’s five.”

  “What’s five?” he asked.

  “You called me old. Every time you say something about frown lines or being old in general, that’s five orgasms you owe me, got it?”

  “Fucking hell, Grace,” he groaned.

  “’Night, love,” I whispered, and hung up as he was protesting.

  Well played . . .

  I chuckled to myself as I rolled over in bed, letting one hand linger on his pillow. Out with Adam. Huh.

  I sent him a text.

  Be careful, George. Love you xoxo

  And so it went. I was on set most days and even some nights, and loving every second of it. Shooting was going well, and the cast was settling in with one another. Leslie had signed on to reprise her role as my nemesis, and it was nice having someone else around from the original New York crew. She had pictures of Jack up in her trailer and made no bones about the fact that if I were ever done with him, she would absolutely swoop right in. I didn’t blame her one bit. But no one was getting ahold of my Brit.

  A little more press was written about the series being in production, and I was starting to notice a trend. Whenever I was mentioned, Jack was mentioned. These were just trade magazines, Variety, Deadline, but still. I wasn’t fooling myself. I knew I was damn lucky to have this job. It was rare that producers would sign an unknown like myself for the lead in a series like this. In fact, it was almost unheard of. So I got it, but still.

  “Don’t worry about it, asshead. It comes with the territory. People want to know who you are, why you got this part. It’s natural—in a town where nothing is,” Holly informed me one day. We rolled around on the bed in my trailer until we were dizzy, enjoying the spoils that came with a large production budget. She’d stopped by to inform me she was hiring me a stylist.

  “What? You mean I can’t continue to run around in yoga pants every day?” I laughed, pulling myself off the bed and picking up a plate of cucumbers. My first sex scene was scheduled in a few days, and while the potted plant was no longer, I did seem to have a lot of scenes where I was holding a book. I’d be dropping the cucumbers soon and just sticking with the air. Big, yummy gulps of air.

  “No, dear, you need a look. I’m sending someone over tomorrow. She’s bringing lots of great things. Let her dress you. You’ll love it. And make sure she picks out something for the party next week,” Holly instructed, leaning into the mirror and inspecting her face.

  Looking at her, it was hard to tell she was on the business side of show business. She always looked flawless. But she’d brought studio heads to their knees when working out a deal—figuratively speaking, of course—and she loved her job. Part of her job was combining work with fun, and she was having one of her famous parties. Jack and I had met at her last one.

  “Yeah, yeah, is Lane coming?” I asked, watching her face carefully. She was always vague about Lane, who’d played Jack’s assistant in the Time movie. Tall and impossibly good-looking, built like a god and capable of making her see God as well, the two had been engaging in a purely sexual relationship for months now. It was on; it was off. It was on; it was really on; it was off. Lane was great—sweet as can be—but I think they both knew it was just about getting an itch scratched.

  Gross.

  “I thin
k so. Rebecca too. Nick’s going to try to make it. He’s supposed to be back from Oregon sometime next week,” she answered, her cheeks barely flushing.

  Hmmm. Off again?

  Wow, the whole gang. We knew Rebecca through Jack as well. She was a part of the Time cast. Nick was, well, Nick.

  “Is he still working on that series?”

  “Trying to. He wanted so badly to go legit, but he misses Hollywood too much.” She snorted as she stood up to leave. Nick was a screenwriter and had been working on a documentary for PBS. He was on location most of the time now. It would be good to see him. He texted me all the time, telling me how much he missed me, but I know secretly he just wanted to look at the pretty. He had a major crush on Jack, and he loved to make it as obvious as he could. Which was pretty obvious.

  After Holly left, I looked at myself critically in the mirror. I could see a difference. I could definitely see more “cheekbone,” but did that mean I was ready to sex it up for the camera? I twisted this way and that, checking it out from all angles. I thought I looked pretty good, but that damn camera. They say it adds ten pounds, but I think that’s when you’re under thirty. Over thirty, I think it was a few more than that. David made sure I was watching the dailies and could see what I really looked like.

  I texted Chip Chip the Devil Man and added an extra workout for tonight.

  Air is good.

  In the end, I tried like hell to give them the cheekbone they asked for. I barely ate for three days, ran my ass up and down the canyon like I was getting paid to, which I was, and worked out more than I had ever worked out in my life. I moved that scale two pounds. Two pounds! And don’t think I didn’t hear about it, everyone had their two cents to say about my two pounds. Diet tips, weight-loss books, fasting schedules, everyone had an opinion. But we also had a tight shooting schedule to stick to, so when SS Day (Sex Scene Day) came, I breathed deep and went for it.

  We had blocked the scene earlier that morning, the actor who I had been working with on this particular story arc was great, supersweet and very good-looking. Relatively new to the industry, he was just as nervous as I was, so we psyched each other up.

  It was strange, rolling around on a bed with another actor and trying to make it seem natural, when it was more choreographed than my high school pom-pom routines. Hand here, knee bent here, stick your butt out here, but keep it covered with the sheet, it was like a grown-up game of Twister. Mabel, my character, was having a one-night stand, and when I met the actor I could understand why.

  A few minutes before we were ready to shoot, I headed over to the craft table for a bottle of water, my throat suddenly dry at the thought that I’d be rolling around on said bed in my skivvies, otherwise known as pasties and a thong. Mumbling a cheekbone mantra in my head, I turned a corner and overheard David talking to the assistant director. Really wished I hadn’t.

  “It’s fine, wardrobe’s sending over a bunch of those teddy things, just tell her it’ll be sexier to have her covered up, more suggestive that way,” the AD said.

  “Suggestive, sure, that’s a good word for it. I’ve got a lead actress who’s got no business being naked on-screen and can’t do something simple like lose twenty pounds.”

  Twenty pounds?

  “I’m telling you, the teddy will work out fine.”

  “More like teddy bear.” David snorted, and the two walked back toward the set. I stood there for a moment, in shock.

  “You cold?” I heard from behind me. Michael.

  “Cold?” I asked, closing my eyes to blink back the tears.

  “Yeah, you’re shaking,” he said, walking in front of me and rubbing my arms. I could tell him. I could tell him what I had just heard; he was my friend and he’d likely intercede on my behalf.

  Not sure this is the kind of thing one wants to draw attention to, is it?

  No, no it wasn’t.

  “Nerves I guess,” I muttered, opening my eyes just in time to see the wardrobe consultant walk up to me.

  “Grace? We’re making a last-minute change. David thought it might be sexier to have you in one of these, give the audience more to think about, right?” she asked, waving a bunch of black lace in front of me. Michael, clueless, smiled and blushed.

  “Sure, let’s give them something to think about,” I agreed, beginning a slow burn.

  That poor actor, I threw him all over that bed. Rolling around in my black lace and my curves, I made damn sure David saw just how sexy a teddy bear could be. Something that would have made Last-Year Grace shrink up and curl into a ball made This-Year Grace pissed off and ballsy. When they called wrap for the day, I crawled off the bed after giving my costar a high five, ignored the robe someone tried to give me, walked past David while meeting his eyes the entire time, and strolled the rest of the way to my trailer. Across the lot. In my teddy. And Adidas soccer sandals. To a chorus of catcalls and whistles from every single male crew member I passed.

  By the time I walked up the steps to my trailer, I was smiling big and laughing out loud. After I banged open the door, my eyes fell on the only thing that could have made me smile bigger. Jack.

  “What are you doing here?” I grinned, walking over toward where he was relaxing on the couch.

  “Christ, Grace, what are you wearing?”

  “Just shot my first sex scene,” I said proudly as he pulled me down onto his lap.

  “And you walked across the entire lot like that?” he asked, his eyes everywhere, hands quickly to follow.

  “Proving a point, but more to the point, what are you doing here? I didn’t think you were coming in till tomorrow?” I squealed as he pressed a kiss under my ear.

  “They didn’t need me anymore, so I caught an earlier flight and headed straight here. If I’d known there were garters involved, I would have been here sooner.” He grinned appreciatively, snapping one and making me bounce a bit.

  “And they just let you on set? Into my trailer?”

  “Thank god all the PAs read People.” He laughed, leaning back to look at me. I blushed, reminded again of my state of undress. I took the opportunity to look at him as well. Christ, he looked good. Deeply tanned and his eyes were emerald green but darkening by the second. He still had the short hair, made even more blond by the sun. Beautiful.

  I tried to think through all the implications of having him here, on set. Anyone could talk; anyone could sell this story to the tabloids.

  Jack Hamilton meets Grace Sheridan on set of new TV show for a quickie . . .

  He could see me overthinking it, knowing exactly what I was worrying about when I chewed my lip.

  “Hey, Crazy. It’s okay. We’re adults, for Christ’s sake, they all know exactly what we’re doing in here.” He chuckled, his laughs dying down as his lips searched out my skin. I sighed without thinking, my hands coming up to his hair and tucking in.

  “But what if someone talks? What if . . . Jesus that feels good.” I tried to focus my brain scrambling and coherent thought becoming more and more difficult. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust the cast and crew, and while we were deliberate with our behavior in public, we were much less so in a professional setting like this. Just because we didn’t comment publicly, and allowed Holly to tell the press we were just friends, didn’t mean that we were not every bit a couple when alone or with people we knew. And I felt like I knew everyone on this set. However, it still made me feel exposed a bit. Speaking of feeling exposed . . .

  “I just spent two weeks in the desert with a bunch of guys, and if I’m not inside you immediately, I can’t be held responsible for what I might do otherwise, you hear me?” he murmured into my ear, kissing and nipping at my shoulder, my collarbone, my jaw.

  “Mother-of-pearl that’s good,” I moaned as he lifted me up onto the table.

  “Please don’t talk like one of the Golden Girls right now; it might be the only thing that could stop me at this point,” he pleaded. Giggling, I wrapped my arms around him and gave in to what I was feeling, skin h
eating as his hands swept over me, taking in the black lace and sassiness. With a wicked grin he sent my panties sailing across the room, and I gasped as he dropped to his knees. Suddenly I was not so concerned with trailer rocking and the mocking that was sure to follow.

  “I think you said I owed you five, right?” he asked, nibbling on the inside of my knee, pushing my legs farther apart.

  “You can spread those out over time; they don’t have to all be at once—mmm.” I moaned as he pulled me into him. I had a brief insane image of the movie Jaws when the old guy goes sliding down the boat toward the awaiting shark teeth, but it was quickly thrown back out of my head at the sight of this gorgeous man kneeling between my legs.

  “Brilliant,” he whispered, and bent his head to me. Lips, tongue, fingers, everything and all of it, focused and pointed, swirling and twirling, he loved me as only he could. Hooking my thighs over his shoulders, he surrounded me with a constant steady pressure, knowing inherently when to slow and when to speed, when to press and when to push. When my knees were shaking and my cries were stupid and love drunk, he rose quickly and let me unbutton his jeans.

  “How do you want me, Crazy?”

  “I want you; that’s about all I can tell you at this point, dealer’s choice.” I groaned, still dizzy from the three trips around the world he had already taken me on. I slipped my hands inside his jeans and grasped him, wanting and warm. I raised an eyebrow at what else I found, or rather didn’t find. “Good call on the commando, George.”

  “I didn’t want to waste any time,” he insisted as I pulled him toward me with my legs, wrapping around and sliding against him.

  “So this was just a booty call?” I asked in between kisses, hard and demanding.

  “Hmm, lovely idea.” He pulled me off the table and spun me quickly. Placing my hands flat against the surface, he nudged my legs apart and pushed into me, hard. I hissed at the sensation, the good burn and the sweet tension.

  “Christ, that’s good, love,” he groaned in my ear, seating himself fully inside as I arched back to meet him. Grabbing an equal handful of backside and breast, he rocked into me again, inexplicably deeper than before. I loved when he took control like this.