The Redhead Revealed (Redhead #2)(48)
Author: Alice Clayton

WHERE’S THE REDHEAD?

Chapter 16

I stared at the magazine, unable to comprehend what I was seeing. Was he dating this blonde? Were they sleeping together? Did I even have the right to be asking these questions?

Whether or not I did, my mind whirled in a thousand directions, my eyes riveted to the picture. When I finally worked up the nerve, I read the article inside.

After the premiere of Time in Los Angeles, Jack Hamilton went on world tour, stopping at Time’s opening in his hometown of London, quickly followed by the premiere in Paris. He just recently popped back up on the scene in L.A. and was seen at local nightclubs every night last week. Our cameras caught him exiting a taxi outside the Chateau Marmont hotel in Hollywood with a stunning blonde. When asked where his redhead was—older woman and rumored girlfriend Grace Sheridan—Jack’s words were mumbled and undecipherable. He stumbled into the hotel and was not seen again until the following morning, when he beat a hasty retreat into the Hills. Does this mean Jack is back on the market?

Stunning blonde. Hmpf. And speaking of not stunning, the usually beauteous Jack looked like crap. He was always such a polished pro in public. What the hell was going on?

Maybe he misses you.

More like maybe his fame is going to his head. He seems to have plenty of company.

I read the article three more times before I finally picked up the phone again. I dreaded making this call.

“Hi,” a voice answered.

“Is it true?” I asked, my lower lip beginning to tremble.

“You saw the article?”

“I did. Is it true?” I heard Holly sigh.

“Grace, I love you, but I have a PR nightmare on my hands here, and I have to tell you, you gave up your rights to ask questions about Jack when you broke it off,” she snapped.

“I know, I know. But you have to tell me!” I begged, my lower lip quivering as tears ran rampant down my face.

“I don’t know, Grace. He’s been so hard to get a hold of lately. After Paris, he just kind of checked out. No more press, no more interviews, and he stopped answering my calls. I don’t know what’s going on,” she admitted, her tone softening.

“Oh, Holly. I messed up. I messed up big time,” I wailed.

“Tell me something I don’t know, fruitcake,” she said, and I laughed a little in spite of myself.

She put her PR nightmare on hold, and we spent a long time on the phone. I told her what had happened between me and Michael, and she wasn’t all that surprised. Despite my determination mere minutes ago, we agreed that perhaps now was not the best time to reach out to Jack. I needed to concentrate on the upcoming show. She promised to come out for the opening, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t need some girl time. I needed to focus one-hundred-percent on the show and turn my attention back to my career. I’d been so focused on my personal life—and on Jack’s career—that I’d mostly neglected to realize how wonderfully my own work was going at the moment. Michael had invited a few reporters in to watch rehearsal a few days ago, and the early feedback was good—quite good. Particularly for the leading lady.

“Just hold on, m’dear, and Holly will be there soon,” she said. “We’ll toast your success, have a few cocktails, and, if necessary, I’ll sleep with you,” she quipped, once again making me laugh.

“Well, if there’s anyone who needs to get a little, it’s you. That’s for sure. How long has it been anyway?” I asked.

“Hey, Grace, I need to scoot. Call me later if you need to, okay?”

“Okay. Will do, asshead.”

“Things will work out exactly as they should, I promise,” she said.

“I trust you,” I said, then hung up the phone.

I looked at the magazine once more, then threw it in the trash. I would figure this out, but looking at those pictures was not going to help me.

***

In the final days of rehearsal, I threw myself into my work. It was my saving grace. I found strength in the connection I shared with Mabel, and I spent more time at the theater than ever. After rehearsal sometimes I would steal onto the stage, when the crew had left and it was almost deserted. Standing center, with an empty house, I felt the energy flow through me. In this space I felt more at home than anywhere else on earth. How privileged I was to have a shot at this life, and I was taking full advantage of it. I was proud of myself and what I’d accomplished, and whether the show was picked up or not almost didn’t matter.

Pffft…

Well, yes, of course I wanted the show to do well. Oh hell, I wanted to see my name in lights. I wasn’t too proud to admit it. I could own that, but I was also thrilled to be involved in this industry in any way. Even if I couldn’t be on a stage, or in front of a camera, I now knew I’d need to look into a new career path that kept me in this industry, as this was clearly where I was meant to be.

The days and nights of final rehearsals sped by, and soon I found myself collecting Holly and Nick from the airport. They’d flown in for my big night, and it felt wonderful to have them with me again. I focused on them and just tried not to think about what Jack might be up to right now. But I did wonder if he remembered when my show was to open.

On the way into the city, we sat in the back of the town car, staring like complete tourists as the driver took us down Broadway. Although Nick had been a screenwriter for years and Holly by now was a grizzled old Hollywood veteran, they were just as taken aback by the lights and the built-in energy of the Great White Way as I was—each and every time I passed by Forty-Second Street. As the three of us stared at passing marquees outside the landmark theaters, we were mesmerized.

“Can you believe I’m here, Holls? Actually here?” I breathed, squeezing her hand.

She looked at me, no doubt ready with one of her patented remarks, but she simply smiled and squeezed my hand back.

“Yes, I can totally believe it.” She grinned, and we shared a moment in the back of the car. A moment that was somewhat dimmed by the half-naked guitar player on the street corner, but a moment nonetheless.

Between rehearsals I spent the next few days showing them my favorite haunts around the city, and in a flash it was opening night. That evening, in a tizzy of nerves and panic, my stomach once again reminded me who was in charge, and I vomited my lunch all over the floor of my dressing room. Michael, being a trooper and anticipating my stage fright (perhaps also fearing for his shoes), had a mop standing by.

Just before the music began, Michael found me. He was as nervous as I was, and we clung to each other for a moment before he headed out to watch from the house.