The Unidentified Redhead (Redhead #1)(7)
Author: Alice Clayton

“Well, be sure to let me know when it is. I would love to come,” he said, looking down at me. I was reminded that I was only in a towel and my bathing suit and decided to mess with him a little.

“Hamilton, I would love for you to come,” I teased, implication heavy in the air as I raised my hand and gave him a light slap on the face. He narrowed his eyes at me.

“Hmmm … ” he said, and opened the front door.

“What does that mean?” I grinned. Don’t chase him, don’t chase him.

He turned once more, giving me a thoughtful glance. “Hmmm … ” he repeated, and gave me wink.

“‘Night,” I said, as he started to walk away

“‘Night, Sheridan,” he called over his shoulder. And then he was gone.

I closed the door and leaned against it for a minute, just thinking about

“Hmmm … ” I pushed myself off the door and was startled by Holly watching me from the other room.

“Hmmm?” she smirked.

“There will be no hmmm-ing going on, I will have you know. He’s my new friend. That’s all. He’s twenty-four, for Christ’s sake!” I stated, as I walked by her on my way upstairs.

“You could use a good hmmm-ing, ya know!” she yelled up after me.

That was so true.

Chapter 4

I woke up feeling strangely disoriented. My back was stiff, and I realized that I had fallen asleep in the big chair by the fireplace in the living room. I stretched, listening to the tendons in my neck crackle and pop, until I noticed that Holly was sitting across from me with a grin like the Cheshire Cat.

“Hey, what’s up?” I asked, snuggling back under the throw I had wrapped up in last night while I was reading.

While I was reading—oh no.

“I told you so. How far did you get?” she asked with a bemused expression, looking pointedly at the magazines strewn across the floor next to me.

I attempted to crawl further under the blanket while she pointed accus-ingly at me, and I finally rolled my eyes and held up my hands, signifying my surrender.

“OK, OK, I give. It’s brilliant and I’m totally sucked in. I’m in love with Super Sexy Scientist Guy!” I admitted, blushing as I thought of the passages I’d read the night before. Joshua had arrived in nineteenth-century Paris and was engaged in some rather intense “international relations” with a young woman who worked in a millinery. I didn’t know where this story was going to go, but I was sure digging it. I might have also been imagining a certain Mr. Hamilton in the role of Joshua, and that made me blush further.

“Oh, boy,” she squealed. “Wait until you get to the part where he picks her up and pushes her up against the—”

“Holly! Not fair! Let me read them on my own. At the rate I’m going I’ll be finished by the end of the week.” I raised a finger in her direction and shook it.

“I won’t tell you anything … but promise me you’ll keep me posted on what part you’re on,” she pleaded with me.

“Agreed,” I muttered as she left the room, glowing.

Later that day, I was finishing a run at Griffith Park. I had spent the rest of the morning trying to work, but I was unable to stay away from the damn stories. I was well into the third short story by now, and losing ground fast to this new addiction. By three p.m., it was obvious that I would get no work done, so I decided to go for a run. I was lucky that my job allowed me a flexible schedule and I mainly worked from home. I had gone back to school after moving back from L.A. and got a second degree in instructional design. I created and designed training programs and materials and had been fortunate enough to be able to work in a freelance capacity. This work was something I enjoyed and was good at, although it wasn’t satisfying the way performing was. As I was running, I reflected on how happy I was here and how I had made it back.

When I lived in L.A. the first time, I was focused only on what I thought fame would bring me. I wanted the attention, the money, the lifestyle—instead of concentrating on the work, on the craft. What I have since realized is that, back then, it was all about the validation, looking out instead of in. I rarely allowed myself to really let go, to truly trust myself or whoever I was sharing a stage with. I had rare moments of honesty on stage, but they were so powerful and exhilarating that I quickly moved on to surer footing. I would transition into a punchline, or camp it up, taking myself out of the moment and back into what I knew. Be funny and beautiful, but not real.

When I moved back home, I was mortified. I had failed for the first time in my life, really failed. I hated that, but not enough to fight for it. I continued to gain weight and was almost unrecognizable to anyone who knew me. It happened over the course of several years, so I didn’t notice how unraveled my life and its direction had become. I was lucky enough when I went back to school to find something that I was good at. Once I was finished with school for the second time, the jobs I was able to get afforded me the luxury of working from home, and I cocooned there.

Holly and I stayed in close contact, but rarely saw each other. I had a few friends that I spent time with, and while I went out on a few dates from time to time, there was no one special. For someone that had partied like a rock star and never wanted for male companionship, I had effectively shut down that part of my life. It was as if I was numb … down there. I’d had a highly charged sex life and a strong sexual appetite, but once I started to gain weight, I no longer had the desire. OK, strike that. I had the desire, but I was so reluctant to let anyone touch me. Over time, that part of me just went to sleep. I had become a shell of my former self and didn’t even know it.

Everything changed when my friends took me out for my birthday. I had stayed in contact with several of my girlfriends from high school, getting together for dinners and cocktails occasionally. They always made me tell them stories about the exciting life I had led in California, all eighteen months of it, and it was fun. There was still a little crazy left in me, and I let it out sometimes, albeit carefully. They had surprised me with tickets to see Rent, and while it had been years since I had seen a play or musical of any kind, I was touched that they would remember how much I had loved the Rent soundtrack. I had never actually seen the show and thought it would be an interesting night.

Interesting did not even begin to describe it.

From the moment I walked into the theater, from seeing the stage, to even finding our seats in the mezzanine, my skin was tingling. My senses were heightened, my breath was coming fast, and I actually felt a little dizzy. Then the lights went out.