The Redhead Plays Her Hand (Redhead #3)(6)
Author: Alice Clayton

“It does suck, but that’s the industry you’ve chosen. The good and bad, you get it all. You want less cheekbone, you move into the best friend category, okay?” she said, eyes blazing.

“Let’s look at this a different way, maybe—” Michael started, and I held up my hand.

“I’m a big girl—literally, apparently. I can handle this,” I said, and Holly sighed.

“I love you, ya little fruitcake, but this is the way it is. You’ve been given an amazing opportunity, one that other actors in this industry have been working toward for years and would live on lettuce and Diet Coke for months to get. You’ve got it. This is just part of the gig.” Her eyes softened a bit. “This is totally something you can do. I know you can.” She smiled.

“Hey, if that’s what I need to do, that’s what I need to do, right? Not a problem,” I assured her, smiling through my teeth.

“You sure?” Michael asked, clearly uncomfortable with this entire conversation.

“I got this.” I nodded.

“We good?” Holly asked.

“We’re good.” I nodded again.

We all sat together, quiet. Three friends who had found one another in a college theater class and were now working in their chosen industry, in positions most could only dream about. What a strange world this was.

“So, I hear we’re going dancing tonight? Tell me more,” Holly said, leaning back in her chair and putting her feet up on the desk, indicating that the business portion of our meeting was over.

I started to tell her all about the plans for the evening, but all I could think about were those damn jelly beans.

Driving home I put the top down, no matter who could see. My mind was whirling. I needed some air. With the stereo cranked up, I navigated the streets of the city I loved, the city I worked so hard to get back to.

After leaving Los Angeles the first time, I spent several years—the better part of a decade really—smothering my feelings in smothered chicken. And burgers. And lots and lots of Doritos. I felt such shame that I hadn’t managed to even last a year in L.A. that when I came home I licked my wounds, and the inside of more than one Klondike bar wrapper. Then I cocooned. Years went by, and I found a great job that allowed me some creativity but all behind a computer. I didn’t go out much, didn’t date at all, and as the pounds packed on and my sadness grew, I lost so much of what was me, what Jack had so quickly identified as his Nuts Girl. I eventually pulled myself out of it, rallying big-time to come back to L.A. and try again. And within the span of a year, I was about to live out every dream I’d ever had, and the dream of actors everywhere. This would be my breakout role, one way or another.

So what’s fifteen pounds, really?

Nothing, except I already managed what I ate so carefully. And exercised religiously. Dating a younger man initially brought back so many of my fears—not good enough, not young enough, not thin enough—but it was finally good. It was really good with Jack, and I was content with how I looked. For the first time in a long time, I felt good when I looked in the mirror.

So they need fifteen pounds. If they asked you to dye your hair a deeper shade of red, would you do it?

Yep.

If they said your character should have blue eyes, would you get contacts?

I’m afraid of touching my eyeballs.

And yet . . .

Yes, I would do it.

So what’s fifteen pounds? It’s certainly not going to stand in your way of this . . . is it?

It really shouldn’t.

My phone interrupted my inner monologue. It was Holly.

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop whatever it is you’re doing. Don’t let this freak you out.”

“Wow, you’re good,”

“That’s why I get fifteen percent. Which, based on the contract I negotiated for you, is significant. So trust me, okay?”

“I do; I do.”

“So stop it. Go home, get prettied up, and we’ll shake our asses all over town tonight. Now that’s an order.”

I smiled into the phone, giving up the fight even before it began. I pulled to a stop on Beverly, leaning my head back against the seat. Closing my eyes for a moment, I could feel the good sunshine soaking into my pores, the scent of the canyons ahead thick in the air. Smog, perhaps, but definite canyon mixed in.

“I’ll pick you up at eleven, dillweed.”

“So late? My God are we old.” Holly laughed.

“You said it.” I hung up the phone and headed home. To the home I shared with a twenty-four-year-old.

Fifteen pounds. I got this.

Atta girl . . .

“Jesus, look at that line!” I yawned, as we pulled up in front of Bar the Door later that night. Very much later that night. It was eleven thirty, and young Hollywood was out in force. Holly and I stepped out of the car to valet and made our way toward the front of the line. I looked down at my little black dress, glad Holly had talked me into dressing up a bit. Her instincts, as usual, were correct, as the ladies waiting to get in were dressed to the nines. Eyes—irritated eyes—pored over me as we walked up to the front. Eyes that said, Bitch, you better not get in before me . . .

Yes, every now and again it was nice to be dating the new It Boy. And also a Brit Boy.

“Jack said our names would be on the list,” I whispered to Holly as we approached the giant bouncer. His eyes were more appreciative than the ladies in line. He smiled as we walked up.

“Hi, we’re guests of Adam Kasen’s.” Holly grinned, blond hair swinging over her shoulder, swinging down low into her cle**age. She was looking good. Velvet ropes were pushed aside, smiles were bestowed, and we were ushered in.

In to a different world. Black walls, mirrored ceiling, bars everywhere, and music. Thick, screaming house music. Industrial, heavy, it pounded in my ears and got inside my brain. Everything about this place was sexy, and it was packed with sexy people. Dancing, mingling, kissing, this was no longer Los Angeles. This was Hollywood. And it was hot.

A bouncer inside immediately brought us to the VIP area, and there behind a double round of more velvet ropes was Jack. Reclining into a plush red leather banquette, he was drinking a Heineken and watching the scene. He was surrounded by young Hollywood hipsters. I recognized most of NBC’s fall lineup. It was a unique opportunity to see him in his element but unnaturally so.

He had no idea how strong his personality was, the innate star quality he possessed. The fact that he was unaware of it made him even more appealing. He was the only one who was unaware of it, however, and as we got closer I saw the girls, all the girls. But how could I blame them?