The Unidentified Redhead (Redhead #1)(5)
Author: Alice Clayton

“Jack, it was very nice to meet you. I hope next time I can contain myself a little more. Enjoy your threesome,” I said with a wicked smile. This guy was great, and I was excited to have maybe made a new friend. He took my hand gently but enthusiastically.

“Grace, it has been interesting to say the least. And your sparkly boobies are beautiful. Enjoy your hangover.” He shook my hand and laughed again as he left the kitchen, giving Holly a kiss on the cheek as she walked him out.

I watched him leave with his blonde and his brunette, thinking about how much fun this evening had turned out to be. Holly came back after showing the last of her guests to the door, took one look at the party fouls all over the place and said, “Clean this shit up in the morning?”

“Or the afternoon?” I asked, holding my head.

“Deal. Let’s go to bed,” she answered, locking up as I turned out the lights.

We trudged upstairs, discussing the evening as we made our way down the hall toward our rooms.

“Holly, that was a great party. I’m really proud of you. You’ve done everything you set out to do, and nothing has stopped you. You kind of rock.” I smiled at her and gave her a hug at her door.

“Yeah, I have kicked some ass. Now go vomit. I know you want to,” she said, pointing me toward my room.

“I really just do. ‘Night, asshead,” I shot back over my shoulder as I went to collapse.

“‘Night, dillweed. Seriously, Grace. Five dirty martinis?” was the last thing I heard her say as I shut the door in her face and fell onto my bed.

Right before slipped into sleep I thought about my sparkly boobies and laughed a little to myself.

Chapter 3

The morning brought hellfire and brimstone … and that was just what I threw up. When I first opened my eyes, which took several minutes of prying through mascara goo, I knew that this day was possibly going to be the worst day of my life. I never, repeat never, have more than two cocktails.

I simply cannot handle it anymore. I would love to pretend that I can still hang with the younglings, knocking back cocktail after cocktail and feeling no pain, but that was no longer me. I felt the pain—oh how I felt the pain.

I attempted to get dressed, but gravity defeated me and I made my way out into the hall in an old button down Polo shirt, leaving my shorts on the floor of my bedroom where they had finally given up the fight. After repeated tries at balance, I made it down the hall, shorts-less, hugging the wall and then banister for support. I could smell coffee and, like a beacon, I was drawn to it. I could hear Holly talking on the phone, and I moaned at her damnable cheeriness. Holly never got a hangover. Bitch.

“Yes, right now you’re scheduled to do MTV on the seventh and then you have an In Style photo shoot on the twelfth of that same month,” she said, smiling at me while I poured myself a cup of coffee, wrapping my hands around the mug and inhaling deeply. I might feel human again in about a day or so. I burped and thought, well, maybe a few days.

“Listen, mister, do you have any idea how hard it was to sync up all the calendars for you guys? Half the cast is going to be there. You have to do the photo shoot on the twelfth. At least it’s here in L.A. so there’s no travel involved. Yes, I know this fall you’ll have plenty of travel. Honestly, Jack, sometimes you sound like such a little bitch.” She laughed as she gestured to me to sit down.

Knowing I was on borrowed time with my legs supporting me, I sank into one of the comfy armchairs in her breakfast nook. As I sipped at my coffee, I thought about meeting Jack the night before and smiled thinking of what the other side of this conversation must be sounding like.

“She just woke up. Yes, she appears to be quite hung over. Hold on, let me see,” she said looking carefully at me. “Jack is asking me to inspect your eyes to see if they look like … wait, what? To see if they look like cabbages?” She looked at me strangely.

“Tell Hamilton I said to suck it,” I groaned, letting my head drop down to the arm of the chair, oddly pleased that he remembered our conversation with such clarity—and surprised that I did as well.

“She said, ‘Suck it, Hamilton.’ No, she really did say that,” she answered back as I laughed quietly to myself. “He wants to know exactly what he is to suck, Sheridan,” she responded, rolling her eyes.

“Tell Hamilton that he has it exactly right, he is to suck Sheridan,” I yelled, making sure he could hear, but splitting my own head open in the process.

“OK, that’s enough of the telephone game. You guys can continue your last name foreplay another time. Jack, I’ll speak to you later. What? Jesus.

Fine I’ll ask her. Goodbye … I’m hanging up now.” She clicked her phone off and set it on the counter, looking at me carefully.

“What? What are you looking at me like that for?” I asked, realizing that I was grinning from ear to ear.

“You tell me. Why is he asking me about your sparkly boobies?” she asked, raising her eyebrow at me. I didn’t answer as I lowered my head to my coffee mug, fighting to not smile wider.

Holly took good care of me that day: She left me alone except to bring me Sprite and Saltines. I managed to control the crumb fall-out this time. I pretty much stayed on the couch. After a day of hangover hell, I must have fallen asleep, because when I woke up, it was dark outside and Holly was gone. She had left me a note and a stack of magazines on the coffee table next to me.

Lush,

Here are the stories you promised you’d read. I’m out for dinner with clients. I shouldn’t be home too late. Call me if you need anything, and clean yourself up.

You look like shit.

Love you,

H

Holly was right. I did look pretty sorry. I headed up to my bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth. I needed some energy, so I changed into my suit and grabbed a towel. As I walked back through the house, I saw the stack of magazines marked with Post-its on the table again, and after rereading her note, I picked up the one on top and thumbed through it to the first short story. I rolled my eyes at the fact that I was contemplating reading a romance story, which I usually avoided like the plague. Still, I took them with me out to the pool deck.

I marveled once again at how beautiful Holly’s house was. High up in the hills, it had great views from three sides. It was California modern, with an open floor plan and lots of natural light. It even had a sound system that worked throughout the house and on the patio. I plugged my iPod into it and selected my favorite play list of quiet-time U2 songs.