The Redhead Plays Her Hand

by Alice Clayton

  I kept busy all afternoon: cutting up fruit for a salad, setting out plates and bowls and silverware for everyone, mixing up a batch of margaritas to go with the guacamole I made with avocados from my trees in back, and I was just putting the finishing touches on a cheese platter when Jack blew in.

  “Crazy, you ready for tonight? I’m ready. You ready?” he shouted from the front door. I caught sight of a black Suburban as it left the driveway. Was it Bryan? Or was it Adam? They both drove the same car . . .

  Before I could think on it too long, Jack swept me up in his arms and swung me around. “Mmm, I missed my girl!” he murmured, pressing wet kisses all along my neck and into the top of my dress. “Christ, Grace, you know what it does to me when you wear that apron.”

  I pulled away from him for a moment, laughing as I smoothed my dress. I did know what it did to him when I wore this apron.

  That’s why you put it on.

  Also to protect my dress from the avocados. That green stain is hard to remove.

  Who are you fooling?

  No one. I totally wore the apron to drive him crazy.

  Speaking of crazy, Jack was looking all around the house, taking in the spread I’d laid out for our friends.

  “Everything looks great, looks great. When are they all getting here?”

  “Um, any minute now. I think Holly and Michael were going to—”

  “Do I have time for a shower? I’m just gonna take a quick shower before everyone gets here, okay? Okay, Grace?” He started for the bedroom.

  I caught his arm before he could get away. Turning him toward me, I took him in. His face was flushed, and his eyes were almost black as he looked down at me.

  “You okay?” I asked, smoothing his hair back from his face.

  “Of course. Why?”

  “I dunno,” I replied as his arms came around me.

  He tapped out a drumbeat on my bum, his hands moving fast.

  “Totally fine, Grace. Excited for tonight?”

  “Um, yeah, I think so. A little nervous but—”

  “I’m gonna hit the shower before everyone gets here, okay?” He kissed me soundly on the forehead before peeling away and heading off down the hallway.

  I looked around, wondering what the hell just happened. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Holly’s Mercedes pulling into the drive. I shook my head to clear it, then untied the apron and threw it into the kitchen as I went out to greet my friends. This was Michael’s big night as much as it was mine, and I wanted to enjoy it with him. Besides, I had all night to worry over this latest development.

  Twenty minutes later I had Michael and Holly slicing up French bread to make little crostini when I heard Nick’s voice at the front door.

  “Grace! There’s a big ol’ hunk of man out here on your porch. Let him in!” he called. When I came around the corner, I burst out laughing. Nick was grinning ear to ear at Lane, who stood sheepish with his hands full: literally with bottles of wine and figuratively with Nick and his waggling eyebrows.

  “There’s two big ol’ hunks of man out here! I love it! Get in here, you two.” I laughed again as Nick gestured for Lane to go in first, ever the gentleman.

  Lane leaned down to give me a kiss on the cheek. “Where’s that idiot boyfriend of yours?”

  “He’s in the shower. He’ll be out in a bit.” I swatted him on the butt as he passed.

  “The shower, you say? I’ll go get him, let him know everyone’s here,” Nick insisted, nudging past me on the way to the bedroom.

  “Hold it, mister. No ogling my man.” I grabbed his arm and swung him around. He pouted a bit.

  “You’re no fun now that you have your own TV show,” he huffed on his way to the kitchen, where he immediately began antagonizing Michael. He really was in heaven around our boys. And speaking of boys, where was mine?

  I headed to the bedroom, where I could still hear water running. Which is why I was so surprised to find Jack on the bed, sound asleep in his clothes. What the hell?

  “Jack,” I called as I moved into the bathroom to turn off the shower. “Jack, wake up!”

  His snores confirmed that he was out good.

  “Hey, wake up!” I prodded, annoyed.

  “Hey, Crazy, what’s going on?” He smiled through his sleepy eyes.

  “I could ask you the same question,” I said, and his eyes opened wide.

  “Just closing my eyes for a minute before I shower. Can you turn the water on for me?” he asked, rolling over, away from me.

  “You already turned on the water. It’s been running for thirty minutes! There’s probably no hot water left, not to mention that we have a houseful of people now. No time to take a shower.”

  He rolled back over and looked at the clock, then rubbed his eyes. “Fuck. Okay, just give me five minutes and I’ll be right there.”

  I watched him as he rubbed at his face, and he met my gaze through confused eyes.

  “I’ll be right there, okay?” he snapped.

  “Yeah, sure. Whatever, Jack.” I sighed, leaving the bedroom and feeling the sting of tears.

  Once in the hallway, I hovered for a moment, listening as he got up. I wiped away a tear that got away, then took a breath before heading back out to the kitchen. Holly took one look at me and headed me off at the back door.

  “Just going to light the candles,” I said before she could say anything. I grabbed the lighter and went to work on the tiki torches.

  “Sure, Grace,” she answered, watching me. I kept my back to her as I moved from torch to torch. As I looked at the bedroom, I could see him standing in the window, watching me too. I turned my back to him as well.

  He’d better watch it. You’ve got a torch.

  That’s for goddamn sure.

  Dinner was . . . tense. Jack finally made an appearance, disheveled and tired-looking. Which made no sense at all, since he’d gone to bed with me early the night before and slept in this morning. But he could barely keep his eyes open. Also might have had something to do with the double whiskey he poured himself to go with the dinner, which he barely ate.

  As usual, he sparred with Nick, who made a joke about his bedroom eyes. Other than that, however, Jack sat at his end of the dining room table, avoiding my eyes and any topic of conversation that had to do with partying, drinking, clubbing, or being an asshole in general. Holly wisely kept silent about the missed calls. She knew better than to mix business with pleasure. But you could tell it was killing her not to say anything directly to him. Lane was curiously quiet as well. Initially I thought perhaps it was tension about Holly and Michael, but in fact, Michael and Lane got along extremely well. They even made plans to go mountain biking the following weekend.

  Then after we’d eaten and were getting assembled in the living room to watch the show, Nick cornered me in the kitchen as I finished cleaning up.

  “You know I think you’re pretty, right?”

  “Oh boy, what are you working up to?” I smiled into the cupboard, turning around with an armful of coffee cups. He took them from me and set them out for everyone as I got the cream from the fridge. On second thought, I also pulled out a bottle of Kahlúa from under the counter. I poured a hefty dash into my coffee cup, and he nodded when I offered him some as well.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  I scooted around him to grab the sugar bowl, grabbed the carafe of coffee, and gestured for him to help me into the other room. “With what?” I asked.

  “Grace, come on. What the hell is up with my pretty boy?” He placed a hand on my arm as I tried to balance everything.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” I insisted, not wanting to get into this now.

  “Grace, you know I only—”

  But he was cut off by raised voices coming from the backyard. I stole a quick glance at the clock. The show was starting in less than ten minutes.

  “Unbelievable. What now?” I rushed toward the French doors. Through the glass I could see Jack and Lane, inches a
part and looking critical. Pushing open the doors, I moved outside to hear the end of their argument.

  “Seriously, dude, get your shit together. This affects other people too, you know!” Lane’s voice was full of anger.

  “Oh, come on. How does this affect you?” Jack sneered.

  “You think these jobs just roll in? You not signing means my ass could be out of a job. You ever think about that?”

  “No way. You can’t put that on me.” Jack walked away, grabbing his glass off the patio table.

  Lane followed, talking to his back as Jack drained his whiskey. “I can put that on you, and I will put that on you if you’re the reason this movie doesn’t get made. If you think you can walk away from a franchise like this without it impacting everyone else, you’re insane!”

  By now Holly and Michael were perched on the back of the couch in the living room, listening through the other set of French doors as Jack and Lane continued to go at it in the backyard. I wanted to stop this, I should stop this, but I had no idea things had gotten so bad with the Time sequel that Lane even knew. Why didn’t I know about this? Why wasn’t Jack talking to me?

  I didn’t have time to follow that train of thought any further because the next thing I knew, Jack turned around to face Lane and saw all of us watching.

  “Enough!” he shouted. The whiskey glass he’d been holding now flew across the backyard and hit the side of the house, shattering into a thousand pieces across the patio. I gasped, and then . . .

  Quiet.

  The quiet pressed in on all sides, the pressure building in my ears and behind my eyes. I was vaguely aware that Michael started to get up from the couch, but Holly held him in place. Later on I could remember seeing Lane back away from Jack, shaking his head. I could still feel Nick’s hand on my arm, his grip tight.

  What I was completely and totally focused on at the time was the sight of Jack, barely standing and pale, with splotches of red anger across his cheeks. Shaking. His eyes searched for mine, and when he found me they looked haunted and vacant. Then, punching through the quiet came the strains of the theme song for Mabel—upbeat and bouncy and completely inappropriate for the moment. A glaring reminder of what this night was about, was supposed to be about.

  “Out,” I breathed, so quietly that I could barely hear it. “All of you, out please.” I did not take my eyes off Jack. “You, stay right there.”

  Nick squeezed my elbow before moving away. I heard Holly and Michael discussing quietly whether one of them should stay, but they wisely left as well. Lane was long gone by now. My eyes never left Jack. I could hear my own voice coming from the living room, as my TV show was now airing across the entire West Coast. The West Coast would have to wait. I had someone to take to the woodshed.

  sixteen

  So here’s the thing, Jack. I’ve tried to be understanding. I’ve tried to back off. I’ve tried to ignore what’s going on, tried to not be a nagging girlfriend.”

  I walked in a circle around him, keeping my anger in check as best I could. To his credit, he let me circle.

  “I’ve been up at night worrying about where you were and what you were doing. I’ve let you change the subject. I’ve pretended things were fine and dandy. I’ve even fucked you when I should have been talking to you.” I stopped in front of him and looked him square in the eye. “But no more, Jack. You know I love you more than anything on this entire planet, but this shit ends now. You either talk to me, tell me what the hell is going on—”

  “Or what?” he challenged, speaking for the first time.

  And I raged.

  “Why are you making this so difficult? Why can’t you talk to me? And what the hell, Jack? Not signing on for the Time sequel? Why didn’t you talk to me? I had no idea that—”

  “Why does everything have to be such a big deal? Christ, Grace, I know you’re pissed. I know you’re disappointed. You think I don’t know everyone’s talking about me right now? That you and Holly are doing nothing but trying to figure out how to get me back in line, back in step, back to doing what a movie star is supposed to do? Well, fuck that. I’m not a puppet everyone can just play with!” Finally some spark came back in his eyes, which were now spitting fire.

  “Is that what you think we’re doing? We’re worried! All your friends are worried—”

  “Oh, sure. They’re worried. Let me tell you what they’re worried about. Lane’s worried about his next job, Holly’s worried about losing her paycheck, and you’re too busy worrying about me to notice that being connected to me is just—”

  “Wait a minute. Wait a goddamned minute! You think Holly is only worried about a paycheck? She has never done anything but help you and think about your career. She’s making sure you have one and don’t blow the whole thing like that idiot Adam Kasen! And where do you get off telling me what I should be worried about?” I yelled, the anger and frustration and concern that had been percolating for months now bubbling over and landing all over the patio.

  Jack seethed, his entire body tense, his jaw clenched. “If you could see this clearly you would see that—”

  “Don’t you dare tell me what I see. I can’t believe you would—”

  “Stop. Fucking. Interrupting. Me,” he managed, his voice quietly dangerous. “I can’t go anywhere without being recognized. I can’t go to the grocery store without a clerk telling The National Enquirer what kind of frozen pizza I like. I’m scared to death to put the top down and drive around town because I might get fucking run off the road by vultures who care more about getting a picture of me with my is she or isn’t she my girlfriend than they do about safety, and I can’t have a fucking drink after a long day of dealing with all of that bullshit without everyone telling me they’re worried about how I’m handling things! This is it, Grace. This is my reality, and this is how I’m dealing with it, okay?” He was well and truly yelling now too.

  “Jack, love, if that was it, I could understand.” I crossed the distance between us and put my hands on his shoulders, but he shrugged me off. “But you aren’t dealing with this. That’s why I’m so concerned.”

  “You have no idea,” he spat, his eyes going black again, reminding me of when he’d come in earlier.

  “Drinks at the end of the day, my ass. What the hell were you on today?” I saw the shame cross his features for just a moment, and I had my answer. “I won’t watch you do this,” I whispered, my voice shaking, and I watched as his eyes hardened, even to me.

  “You don’t have to,” he replied, leaving me on the patio. I watched in stunned silence through the window as he threw his things into his duffel bag, then came back outside. My show continued to play this entire time, providing a surreal soundtrack to some very real drama.

  “I’m heading back to the desert.” He stood in the doorway with his bag over his shoulder, looking impossibly young. “I’ll call you when I can.”

  When he can? Wait, what’s happening here?

  “What do you mean? Wait, Jack. Don’t go. Let’s talk about this.”

  “This is clearly not a place I can be right now. Besides, I gotta go make a movie.”

  The anger in his voice was so thick it broke my heart. I flashed back to a night not so long ago, a different backyard, but still Jack and me. And a great space between us. But this wasn’t something I could help him with. He was making it clear he didn’t want me right now. He didn’t need anyone. My throat lumped. “I love you, Jack.”

  He nodded and smiled a small smile. “I’ll call you.”

  And then he left. And I had to let him go.

  As I sat in my love seat, with my ever-loving show still playing in the background, I realized that was the first time he didn’t say he loved me back.

  Reviews came in all night, and by the time I woke up the next morning, the show was literally an overnight success. And when I say woke up the next morning, I mean I crawled out of bed after not sleeping a damn wink. I sobbed, I cried, I threw some things, I punched my pillow, and then I so
bbed some more. But then I focused on me.

  My phone was filled with texts from everyone I knew, with the exception of the Brit I very much wanted to hear from. Holly let me know in no less than fourteen texts that every reviewer she was worried about was raving, and that I was the talk of the town today. She also let me know if I didn’t call her soon, she was coming over.

  Michael let me know in only four texts that he had already heard from the network, which was asking about ideas he had for the next season—the next season? Hadn’t been officially picked up, but the fact that the executives were already wondering what he might have up his North Face sleeve was very encouraging.

  Lane texted me to tell me he was sorry he picked a fight with my idiot boyfriend on my big night, but that he’d recorded it, watched it later, and loved it. And to tell Jack to call him whenever but that the next time he threw a glass he’d lay him out.

  My Google alerts were off the charts. The blogs that liked me now really liked me. The blogs that hated me for my connection to Jack were rabid in their continued hatred. But the headline that most caught my eye was from CelebWatch.com, an online site known for their topical discussions about Hollywood and the standard of beauty.

  If Grace Sheridan Is Plus-size, Hollywood Needs a New Scale

  The article went on to not only praise the show and the entire cast but also call out every other website that had insinuated themselves right into my pants and what size they might be. Printing a picture of Marilyn Monroe, they reminded their readers that by today’s standards, Marilyn would be plus-size. A side-by-side comparison showed how I was significantly smaller than she was and yet still billed as a curvy actress. I laughed when I saw the side-by-side shot. She was and always will be a bombshell.