The Redhead Revealed (Redhead #2)(41)
Author: Alice Clayton

“There you are. Jack’s looking for you,” she said, coming to stand next to me at the counter, under the same lighting.

Her skin was perfect. Her hair was perfect. Her face was smooth and unlined. She was a star. My smile faded. I belonged in some kind of dietary fiber commercial.

I turned to her. “Well, I saw him leave, so of course I went to follow him—you know, offer a little comfort to my one and only. But look at that, someone else beat me to the punch. I seemed a little unnecessary.” My voice was cutting and sarcastic.

“Grace, I didn’t follow him out there. I saw him out in the lobby and we just—”

I cut her off. “Enough. I’m too old for this crap. I don’t have the energy. Please tell Jack that I’m not feeling well, and I went home.” I managed to get the words out, the drunk tears starting to build. This was too much. I’d reached my limit. I was out of control, but I was suddenly wise enough to remove myself from the situation. I spun on my heel and made for the door.

“Grace?” she called after me.

My hand on the door, I turned wearily back toward her. She was still lovely.

“There’s something on your dress, on the back. It looks like, well, it looks like you sat in something,” she said, her face bright red.

I turned to look.

Fucking Milk Dud.

Right in the middle of my ass. It looked like I had a little turd stuck to me.

Of course you do.

You know when you just have one of those really shit days? When nothing works, when it just gets worse and worse, and you think you’re going to burst into tears over and over again? But you keep it together. You don’t know how you do it, but you maintain. Then you do something stupid like stub your toe or drop your coffee, and that’s the last straw. And you lose your f**king mind.

I saw it clearly now. This was not my world. This was never my world. Jack needed someone better suited for this life. And it was not me. I didn’t deserve someone as wonderful and amazing as Jack. It didn’t matter that I loved him more than anyone in my entire life.

The writing was on the wall, the Milk Duds were on the chair, and I sat smack dab in the middle of them. I sighed heavily, my shoulders hunching over.

“Please don’t take this personally, Marcia, because I can tell you are honestly a nice person. And I know Jack would never be friends with a jerk, so I know you’re not. But you strike me as the kind of girl who has never and would never sit on a motherfucking Milk Dud. And I really can’t be around that kind of girl right now. It was nice to meet you. Take care of him, please.” I left the ladies room.

I walked straight through the lobby, not even bothering to hide my ass and the remnants of the Dud. I kept my head down as I made my way to the street, and, forgetting about trying to find my limo, I went through the line of fans, crossed the street, and hailed a cab.

***

I went back to my house, took off my dress, and left it in a puddle on the kitchen floor. I threw my shoes at the wall. I stood under the shower for a solid hour while my phone rang and rang and rang on the bathroom counter. When I got out of the shower, I put it in the freezer without even checking messages, and I grabbed the Absolut.

I sat on a lawn chair on the patio, drinking icy vodka from an “I got Lei’d In Hawaii” shot glass shaped like a hula dancer.

After a while I heard a car pull up. I heard keys in the door. I heard loud footsteps clunking through the house, and I heard him yelling for me.

I didn’t answer.

I heard his voice getting closer and angrier. He finally came to the French doors on the patio and looked out into the darkness. He couldn’t see me, and he clicked on the floodlights.

They illuminated everything. My wet hair, the mascara all over, my vodka bottle. My tear-stained face. My defeated face. My resigned and determined face.

“What the f**k, Grace?” he asked, face angry.

We stared at each other across the patio.

I set the bottle down and stood to face him. I was shockingly sober, considering the amount of alcohol I’d consumed.

“Jack, first let me apologize for leaving you tonight. I had to get out of there—” I started.

He interrupted me. “Why the hell did you leave? What—” he began.

I held up my hand. “I’m not finished. Please let me say this. I’m sorry I left you tonight,” I began again, my voice very low and controlled.

He waited, then nodded for me to continue.

“This isn’t going to work, Jack,” I said, and I felt my body tense.

“What’s not going to work? What are you talking about?” He stepped out of the doorway and down onto the flagstone.

“This. Us. This isn’t going to work. We need to cut our losses now before either of us gets in any deeper.” I was amazed at the sound of my voice. I sounded so in control.

A better word for it would be dead. You sound dead.

I felt dead.

I watched Jack’s face as he received this information. It changed quickly.

“Are you kidding me with this shit? What the f**k is wrong with you, Grace?” he yelled. He actually yelled at me. He crossed the patio in three long strides and grabbed me by the arms. I flopped like a rag doll, lifeless.

“We should never have started this in the first place. We want totally different things, and we should stop this now. This has to stop,” I heard myself say. It was like I was underwater and could hear myself talking. The words were murky and thick. It didn’t even sound like me.

“You’re crazy, you know that? How in the world can you even think about ending things with me? You know we’re perfect together,” he said, his eyes pained now. He knew I was serious.

His eyes pierced my veil, and I began to feel some things. Hurt. Sickness. Panic. Anger.

“Don’t say that. I see perfection, but I don’t see it here. Do you know how I felt seeing you and her together tonight?” My voice began to rise.

“Oh, please, Grace. Is that what this is about? How many times can I tell you there’s nothing going on between Marcia and me?” His voice matched mine in intensity.

I ignored the way my stomach contracted when he said her name. “Oh, I believe you. I know you’re just friends. But that’s the kind of girl you should be with. A girl—not some geezery woman like me. And now that the press knows who I am, how old I am? They’ll f**king crucify me. We’ve been fooling ourselves to think this could work outside the little sex bubble we’ve been living in.”