The Redhead Plays Her Hand (Redhead #3)(44)
Author: Alice Clayton

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.

And in that moment, I realized how out of control everything had become. Big, small, curvy, or bony, beauty was beauty. I was healthy. I was exactly the size I was supposed to be, and that was it.

The most wonderful thing about the article? There was no mention of Jack and whether we were dating. It was solely about me, my show, and my abilities as an actress—for once not that man I might be sleeping with.

The man I was still very much worried about. But also the man who left last night, left me with a patio full of glass rather than stay and fight with me about what was really going on with him. I lay back in bed, biting my nails as our conversation played back over for the thousandth time. My brain was pudding at this point. I had analyzed it forward and backward and spent just as much time cursing his name for leaving as I did contemplating how I could have pushed him so far that I let him leave.

Drugs. Dammit, he was turning into a Hollywood cliché. My experience with drugs was limited. Holly and I had partied in college plenty, but only with pot. And we never bought it. There were always guys who would share. In fact, the first time I ever smoked pot was with Holly and Michael, on the floor of his sister’s living room. Cypress Hill, a rose-colored bong, and about eighteen boxes of Snackwell’s later, I had successfully inhaled.

But that was it for me. Never did anything else. I’m sure harder drugs were around, but I was never aware of it—certainly not clued in enough to recognize it in anyone else. However, I was aware enough to know that occasional use didn’t lead automatically to a pretty place in Malibu with a curfew and required wristbands for visitors.

So what had Jack been on yesterday? And was it the first time?

Hi, naive? I think someone’s on the phone . . . something about a bridge for sale?

This explained a lot. But I was more concerned that there was a side to Jack I had no clue about, and no clue how to help.

The phone rang as I was locked inside my own After School Special. “He’s taking drugs, Holly,” I said as my greeting.

“Did I call a hotline?”

I smiled in spite of myself. “Jack. He’s taking drugs.”

She swore into the phone. “I’m on my way over there. I’m gonna kick his ass.”

“You’ll have to drive a little farther than Laurel Canyon. He left for the desert last night.” I sighed.

“What? After we left?”

“About fifteen minutes after you left, yes. The f**king Mabel theme song was playing during our Come to Jesus meeting.”

“Ah, shit. I’m on my way. How many bagels do you want?”

“No bagels, but I wouldn’t say no to egg rolls later.”

“Done. And can we also talk about how f**king huge your show was last night?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, fruitcake. I’m on my way.”

I got out of bed, made it, and headed for the shower. By the time Holly arrived, I had on a dress, had curled my hair, and had my lips glossed. In the past, egg rolls would have been the beginning of a spiral, the way to cope with anything tough that came my way. Egg rolls would have morphed into pans of fried noodles, fried wontons, fried anything. Couple that with my couch, a sloppy ponytail that hadn’t seen shampoo in days, and a marathon of My So-Called Life, and I could turn any crisis into an excuse to cocoon.

Drugs? Pfft. Egg rolls were my gateway. But now I could have my egg rolls with a side of yoga and solve my problems with a clear head. And a hit TV show . . .

Holly stayed for the better part of the afternoon, during which I told her everything that happened the night before. She kicked herself as well. Working in Hollywood as long as she had, she was convinced she should have seen this coming. It was so ridiculously clear, it was like missing the forest for the cocaine. Addict? Probably not. That couldn’t have gotten past me for too long. But the partying had certainly progressed. But while we, of course, spent time talking about the Brit, we also talked about the redhead.

We planned another round of interviews—lots of women’s magazines had contacted Holly about doing photo shoots and feature stories on me, something that boggled my mind but pleased me to no end. I’d not planned this, couldn’t have planned this, but I wasn’t going to say no to a dialogue that was so important and needed to happen. So photo shoot? Hells yes.

I was still riding high, enjoying this ray of sunshine when I finally heard from the person I’d been waiting to hear from. But no call. I got a text.

Saw the headlines today, looks like you’re a hit.

Now, there was nothing mean-spirited about this text, not at all. And there was nothing about it that should have antagonized me so. But when I read it, it pissed me off.

It would appear so, yes.

I pressed SEND, then waited to see his response. I’m sure this was his way of testing the waters, seeing what kind of a mood I was in after leaving me the night before. The waters were decidedly cool. He responded right away.

Is this how it’s going to be now?

Good question. I wondered if I was right to push him this way. There was no right answer here. I just knew how I felt, and how I felt was sad but also a little betrayed. We’d come so far this past year, shared so much, and gone through it all together. Did I really miss all those signs?

The truth was no. I saw them all and talked to him about everything I was worried about. But should I have pushed harder? Sooner? I wanted to help him. Christ, I wanted to help him. But he not only didn’t want my help, he didn’t even want to be around me right now. Aaaand back to pissed.

It’s this way because you wanted it this way, Jack. You left. So go, live it up, go bananas. But like I told you last night, I’m not gonna watch.

He didn’t respond. And I didn’t text him again. And even though no one ever plans it, that was the beginning of the end.

seventeen

ENT

On a break from shooting Soldier Boy, Jack Hamilton and company spilled into the lobby of the Palms Casino Resort in Las Vegas late Friday night after reportedly losing more than $50,000 at the poker tables. Hamilton was in good spirits, however, something you’d think losing all that money would dampen. But he seemed to be flying high, disappearing into a black Suburban with several other actors from the set, including Adam Kasen. Kasen, who has been a fixture on the Hollywood party scene for a few years now, has been inseparable from his castmate Hamilton since the two met in preproduction. Hamilton stopped to sign a few autographs, laughing and chatting with fans, although he beat a hasty retreat when our reporter asked him about the latest details of his never-confirmed and often-denied relationship with actress Grace Sheridan. Just before Kasen got into the car, our reporter asked him the same question, to which he replied, “Grace who?”