The Unidentified Redhead (1) (19 page)

I smiled through my own sleepy haze. He really did love my boobies. I grabbed at his phone and punched at random buttons to turn it off. The room fell blessedly silent.

Yawning, I started to put it back on his nightstand.

His nightstand?

I was putting it back on the nightstand, when I saw that he had gotten a text. Angel Grace and Devil Grace fought for 1.7 seconds…guess who won?

I opened the text, sent from “M”.

Hey, where did you go? You disappeared.

I didn't even get a chance to say goodbye…

Marcia

Dammit.

The_Unidentified_Redhead

Chapter Seventeen

I did sleep that night, but it was a thin sleep. I tossed about, not caring whether I woke him up or not. But he slept peacefully, totally knocked out.

I thought about what that text might have meant and I went through all of the likely reasons why this girl—the same one he'd been photographed with and publicly questioned about the nature of their relationship—would be texting him at such a late hour. There were many reasons, and most of them were innocent.

I, of course, chose to focus on the not-so-innocent.

Jack had left this Marcia in a bar somewhere after she blew him in the bathroom. Jack had left this Marcia in her bed after fucking her senseless and then telling her he was going to take a piss, but never returning. Jack had left this Marcia at a party, surrounded by all the other naked women he had schtupped that night, neglecting to say goodbye to her personally.

But in the end, I had to let it all go. He owed me nothing, we'd known each other for only weeks and I was leaving.

Of course, what I already knew about him told me that nothing like that had happened. I didn't really honestly think that he had been with anyone else, not in that way.

Still, I would like to meet this Marcia. If for no other reason than to stop referring to her in my head as “this Marcia”.

I looked at him, slumbering quietly next to me, his body warming my bed. His arms were wrapped around my waist. His hands were on, as was quickly becoming tradition, my breasts. And I knew that he didn't want to be anywhere else.

Which was troubling because soon all this fantastic was going to have to end. And as all true Scarletts do, I decided to think about that tomorrow. I snuggled back into his arms and tried to put all of this out of my head.

Like I said, I slept, but it was a thin sleep.

***

I was up before Jack and decided to go for a run. I left him a note:

George, I went for a run, be back in an hour. Coffee is downstairs.

If you wait to shower, I'll join you. Then, you know, we can be all kinds of naked.

Gracie

I almost wrote “Love,” but I changed my mind at the last minute.

Chicken shit.

Ain't nobody here but us chickens.

As I ran, I thought about how to tell Jack I was leaving. I knew he'd be happy for me and would realize what a tremendous boost this would be for my career. Hell, this would make my career. And we could work something out, right? I mean, he was crazy about me…at least, that's what it felt like. He'd still want to see me when I was back in town. And he'd probably be doing press in New York. We could get together then, right?

Who are you trying to convince?

Then I thought about working with Michael. Shit, this was going to be a nightmare. I knew that I could handle it, I could be a professional. A professional that wanted to remove his balls and wear them as earrings.

Gross.

Obviously, there would need to be some kind of air clearing ceremony, or at least some kind of ass kicking. But as the writer, he had some say in who was cast, and he must have been OK with working with me. Of course he was, he wasn't the one who was left with the smashed up mess of a heart.

I ran faster.

***

When I got home, I noticed that Holly's car was in the driveway. That was weird. She never came home during a workday. I let myself in the back door off the kitchen and heard her talking to someone. Jack must have been up.

I rounded the corner, ready to start kissing on the Brit, when I saw who she was talking to.

“Hey, Grace. Good to see you again.”

“Michael! Hi! Holly, look, it's Michael!” I said, surprised into the defensive.

“Yeah, I thought it would be a good idea for the two of you to talk, ya know, hash things out,” Holly said, offering me some coffee, obviously as a gesture of peace.

The air clearing ceremony would be starting earlier than I'd planned.

I took a moment to really look at Michael; yesterday all I could see was red. He was the same guy I had gone to school with. If anything, age had made him better looking. Curly brown hair, sweet face, deep brown eyes. I remembered those eyes. He was looking at me expectantly.

“Grace, until I talked to Holly, I didn't realize there was anything to hash out.”

“Well, I'm not surprised,” I started, walking towards him with my finger pointed straight at him. “You left my apartment, never saying a word about what happened, and then all summer you—”

“Uhm, guys? Let's be constructive here. Grace, why don't you take him out on the terrace and you guys can talk there. You don't want to wake our house guest,” she hinted heavily, reminding me that Jack was still asleep upstairs.

“Humph. Whatever. Come on, O'Connell,” I huffed, taking my coffee and the chip on my shoulder outside. He followed with a twinkle in his eye and a wink at Holly. I saw them both.

Once outside, I turned on him.

“So, let's get this out now and then not speak of it again, shall we?”

“Fair enough. Why don't you start by telling me why you're so pissed about something that happened so many years ago?” he asked, sitting in a lawn chair. I took the seat next to him.

“I don't know. To be honest, I didn't know I was still so pissed. But when I saw you yesterday, it brought all that rejection back and it just slammed into me,” I answered, feeling good to finally be able to unload this on him.

“Rejection? What are you talking about? Is that was this is about? I watched you date countless guys, most of them jerks, all through school. And then you jump me at a party, I foolishly tell you how I'd felt about you all those years, and then when I don't instantly propose the next morning, you go back to treating me like your little buddy.”

“My little buddy? You were out the door before I even had the sleep wiped out of my eyes! And then you were such a dick to me the rest of that summer!” I yelled, angrily brushing a piece of hair away from my eyes.

“Grace, did it ever occur to you that when I woke up that morning, after wanting to be there like that with you for three years, that I panicked? I mean, come on, you're Grace Sheridan! The fact that you were even interested in me was beyond the realm of possibility! And then when you invited me back to your apartment…oh man, Grace. That night was, well, amazing.” He sighed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees in a way that was so familiar to me.

It was like ten years faded away instantly and we were sitting on the campus quad, arguing about Brecht and Stanislavski, like the pretentious theater brats we were. Or arguing about whether to use the fifteen dollars we had between us to buy the new “Toad the Wet Sprocket” album, or keep us in pitchers and chicken wings for two nights.

“If you felt like that, why did you leave? And why did things get so weird for us?” I asked, feeling a wave of nostalgia pass over me that was so strong I could almost smell the Drakkar.

“Because I was twenty-one. Because you were twenty-one. Who knows, who remembers? Because we were idiots.” He laughed, and I felt myself begin to relax.

We stared at each other and I saw him, really saw him. I saw the boy I remembered, and now I saw the man he had become. The face was the same, but different somehow. More full, and the facial structure was stronger. His face was a little careworn and the laugh lines that were there, even in college, were etched a little more deeply. His hair was still curly and the eyes full of mischief. He was still the funniest guy I had ever known.

I thought about what he said. Did I treat him like a “little buddy” after we had sex? Maybe, out of self-preservation. And our friendship had cooled so quickly after that.

“Revisionist history…” I muttered.

“What? I didn't catch that.”

“Revisionist history. One event, two sides, and over the years it changes and twists into what we need it to be,” I said, looking at my old friend.

“And it is history, Grace. It really is.” He smiled, taking my hand. I was quiet for a moment, taking it all in.

“You know, it really is great to see you,” I said shyly, remembering how much fun we all had together.

“You too.” He smiled again. “Oh, come here,” he said and pulled me into a big bear hug.

I heard the French door open.

“Grace?” It was Jack, standing there in jeans, once again bare chest and barefoot.

I removed my arms from around Michael's neck.

“Good morning, Hamilton.”

***

After Michael went back inside to talk to Holly, I pulled Jack to me for a close hug. He still smelled like sleep, warm and toasty. But his eyes were chilly. He returned my hug, although it felt perfunctory.

“Did you get my note? You must have, you haven't showered yet,” I teased, making a show of sniffing his underarm. He gave me a compulsory smile.

“Yes, I got it, and no I didn't yet. Who's the guy?” he asked. Wow, he went right for it.

“His name is Michael, and he's an old college friend. I haven't seen him in years.”

“A friend, a college friend. OK.” He nodded, his face relaxing just a touch.

“And, he's also a writer. In fact, he wrote the show that I had the meeting about yesterday, and I—”

“Oh, hell, Grace, I wanted to ask you about it last night, but you were so sleepy. How'd it go?” His face was animated again as he asked me about my audition.

“Well, it went well. Very well, in fact. I…I got the part,” I answered quietly, looking at him with a hesitance. His face broke into a huge grin.

“Grace, that's brilliant! Well done!” he shouted, sweeping me up and swinging me around in a circle. “Oh, love, that's fantastic! I am so proud of you!” he exclaimed, laughing while he twirled me. Then, he stopped, and without setting me down, crushed his lips to mine.

Love? Pride?

I smiled into his kiss, my legs kicking in the air. He finally set me down, hands settled firmly on my ass.

“Now, let's go get some coffee and you can tell me all about it,” he decided, taking my hand and walking me into the kitchen.

Shit.

Once we were in the kitchen, Michael looked at our entwined hands and raised an eyebrow to me. He then walked over to Jack and stuck out his hand.

“Hey, man. I'm Michael O'Connell.”

“Jack, Jack Hamilton, nice to meet you,” he answered as the two shook hands.

Michael looked him up and down and raised his eyebrows again at the lack of clothing Jack had on. I loved that he didn't feel the slightest bit embarrassed that he was considerably less dressed than all of us.

“So, are you staying here with the girls?” Michael asked, nodding at Holly and me.

“Well, I stayed with Grace last night. And Holly loves having me here, don't ya Holls?” He laughed, ruffling her hair.

“Oh, yes, it's just one big whorehouse here and I'm the Madame.” Holly chuckled. “Actually, Jack's an actor and I represent him. He has a huge movie about to open this fall.”

“Ah, so you and he work together,” Michael said. “Grace, playing this one a little close to home, aren't we?” Michael asked, winking at me.

Jack had been in the process of pulling me close to him, wrapping his arm around my waist when he heard Michael. He looked over at him and I felt him tense a little. He pulled me even closer.

“O'Connell, shut up,” I teased, pulling away from Jack and crossing over to where Holly stood by the fridge. We exchanged glances and settled against the counter to watch this unfold.

“So, Michael, was it? You're a writer?”

“Yep, I've written for film and TV for years. This is my first musical, but with Grace as my lead, how can I go wrong?” he answered coolly, smiling at me warmly though.

“Well, Grace is amazing, that's for sure,” Jack answered back, winking at me.

This was weird.

“How about I make us all some lunch? Who's hungry, I'm hungry!” I said, whirling around and looking in the fridge for something to make for lunch.

I made food for the four of us, although it was a little difficult with a Hamilton stuck to my hip. Honestly, he could not have been more obvious if he'd just peed on me.

While I bustled about making sandwiches, Michael, Holly, and I talked about old times. It really was nice to talk to him again and he was reminding me how much fun we all used to have together. He was telling the story about how one night we all got drunk, snuck into the theater, climbed up through the fly system and went out on the roof.

“Grace, when the cops showed up, you were white as a sheet!” he howled with laughter.

“I was white as a sheet because I had just vomited over the side of the building.” I laughed back.

Holly had tears streaming down her face as she remembered. “Oh, God, I forgot about that. You really had trouble holding your liquor then.” She grinned.

“You also had trouble holding on to your clothes. You were in your bra when the cops got there. Wow, all that lace,” Michael sighed, making a face at me when I swatted him with the dishtowel I was holding.

“Shut up. I was not!”

“Oh, yes ma'am you were. You tried to convince the cops that it was your costume, that you had just performed in Cabaret and it was really a very tiny corset.” He laughed.

“That's true, Grace, you were half naked up there,” Holly agreed.

We all laughed while I finished making lunch and we settled in to eat. Jack was quiet most of the time and as the meal went on, I noticed he was not making as much of an effort to touch me as he was earlier. I grabbed his hand at one point and he smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.