“I do know this, Gracie. Why do you keep asking me that?” He smiled that sexy little half grin, and I almost went to pieces. I heard Holly coming back down the hall, saying something about needing bobby pins from the bathroom.
“I better finish getting ready. See you downstairs in a little while,” I said, standing up and leaving the safety of his arms.
“I’ll see you downstairs, love.” He chuckled and pulled me in for one last kiss. I took a deep breath, centered myself, and began to get ready.
The dress Leslie and I found at Bergdorf’s clung to me like a second skin. I’d been going for extra-long runs each day for the last two weeks, not to mention banishing anything that even looked like a carb to the curb to get ready for this night. I was relieved to see it had paid off. The dress was silk shaded just between champagne and gold with a gathered, plunging neckline. It was tight to the waist, then flared out in a bubble. Thin spaghetti straps kept my cleavage hiked up miraculously to my chin, and the tiny belt with a small emerald-green, rhinestone-encrusted clasp made my waist look practically nonexistent.
I thanked Jesus that I hadn’t made too much of a mess with the self-tanner, and my skin glowed. My hair fell in soft curls all around my face. Jack loved it when I wore my hair down and wild, although it was carefully tamed for this evening.
But the kicker? My kicks. Manolo. Jeweled d’Orsay.
I felt like a princess as I sailed down the hall to find Holly. She was looking hot herself in a little black strapless number paired with tall red heels. When someone mentioned Lane earlier, she’d suddenly decided to change from the more sensible black kitten heels she’d initially been wearing. I was going to have to ask her about that…
As we approached the stairs I could hear Jack in the kitchen laughing with Nick. He was still trying to convince Jack they should at least kiss to make sure he was, in fact, straight.
“Nick, will you please quit molesting the Brit?” I called down. I stopped a few steps from the bottom. Nick stopped, and smiled. Jack’s back was to me, and as he turned I took a moment to admire him in profile: Gray suit, black tie. Strong jaw line, messy hair, great stubble. Guinness in hand. He ran his fingers through his hair, and I once again admired his hands. He completed his half turn, which took at least an hour, and his green eyes pored over me.
“Beautiful,” he breathed and came to stand in front of me at the bottom of the stairs. Holly waited in the wings to give us our moment.
“You like?” I asked, struggling to keep myself from launching down the last few steps and throwing myself at him.
“I like,” he whispered, and my eyes filled with tears for the millionth time today. Waterworks, freaking waterworks.
He held his hand out to me, and I took it, stepping down so we were on the same level. On even ground. He spun me like a ballerina, watching as my skirt puffed out. When I came back around, he was smiling.
“Fucking Nuts Girl,” he muttered, the same half grin on his face. He led me by the hand toward the kitchen where everyone was gathered. Holly came downstairs and commenced running around like a chicken with her head cut off. A chicken with fabulous shoes.
She noticed mine. “New Manolos?” she asked, pointing.
“Yep. You?”
“Of course,” she laughed, then cocked her head like a dog, listening for something.
“The limos are here,” she said and raced outside.
“Wait, we have to get pictures!” Nick cried, looking resplendent in his own right in a charcoal gray suit.
Jesus, it is prom.
At his insistence, we found ourselves lined up on the stairs like the New Kids in their Step by Step video.
“This is stupid,” I said.
“Oh, come on, it’s cute,” Holly said, posing a few steps below me like she was taking her senior pictures.
“All we need is a corsage and a Vanilla Ice song and I’m back in high school,” I muttered.
Jack nudged me from behind and said in my ear, “Shut the fuck up and enjoy this, Crazy.”
I rolled my eyes and let the makeup artist finish taking pictures of all of us.
Finally, we piled into the limos. I was to ride with Nick, and the cars would be staggered by about an hour, so Jack would arrive well after me. Just as I was about to get in, he pulled me back against him for a passionate kiss.
I kissed him back with all the force I could, without actually mounting him in the driveway. No matter what may have transpired this morning, I loved him dearly, and my body could never resist him. “I’m so proud of you, George. You deserve all the success that’s about to come to you,” I said, kissing him just below his ear.
“Is it crazy that I want to skip this whole thing and go back to your place?” he asked.
We did cocoon really well. If there was one thing we knew how to do, it was hide away from the world.
“No, love. It’s not crazy, but it’s impossible. I’ll see you there.”
“Yes, but not too close now. We can’t have anyone thinking Jack Hamilton is actually getting laid. Can you imagine?” he said mockingly.
“I heard that,” Holly said, clicking across the driveway to talk to the driver of the car she and Jack were taking.
I kissed him again and squeezed his hand once more. He smacked me on the ass as I got into the car, and I squealed. Nick made a big show of getting into the car really slowly, keeping his bum in the air and pointed toward Jack as long as possible. Jack sighed and smacked Nick on the ass as well. Nick squealed too.
I watched his face as we pulled away. He was smiling.
“Are you excited to be meeting Jack’s dad?” Nick asked as he straightened my dress around me.
Oh, fuck…
“Oh, fuck!” I exclaimed. I’d forgotten about Jack’s dad.
I started drinking in the limo. Vodka. Bad idea. As soon as I made that decision, the stage was set.
A little while later we approached the theater, and Jack was right when he said the sound was petrifying. I’d never heard this sound before. No, that’s not entirely true. I’d heard it, but prior to now I was always one of the people making the noise. I’d screamed my ass off at a concert or two, and when Holly and I went to see the New Kids last summer, we’d screamed like teenagers.
It is an entirely different thing to be on the outside watching the pandemonium than it is to be inside it, part of it. No wonder Jack had started using security.
Nick and I stared with wide eyes at the hundreds, maybe even thousands, of women standing and screaming and waving signs that said things like “Marry me, Jack,” and “Take Me Back In Time,” and, my favorite, “Lay on top of me, Joshua.”
Nice.
I took one last slug of vodka and our limo pulled up to the red carpet. We were early enough that none of the cast was here yet, but that didn’t stop the crowd from screaming when they saw the door open, and the cameras immediately started flashing. Nick strutted a bit before turning to help me out of the car. I was semi-graceful, managing not to flash my business at the crowd. Jack had asked several times if I would please go commando, which I steadfastly refused to do. But he made sure to tell me he was going commando.
Jesus.
Holly had made me show her my panties to be sure I had some on.
When the press realized we weren’t anyone, the flashes stopped almost instantly, but a few asked who we were. Nick had been down the carpet a few times and gave his name. Someone asked for mine and without thinking, I gave it as well. Then I noticed few of the photographers looking at me more carefully, and I heard the word “redhead.” I saw a few more flashes in my direction, and my flight instinct kicked in. I hurried Nick down the carpet.
“Why’re you rushing me, girl? I am shining,” he said, a smirk on his face. The women in the crowd were actually cheering for him. They were so amped up, anyone with a penis would make them shriek.
“I’ll meet you inside. I need to get off this carpet,” I said, glancing at a photographer. This one was f
ollowing me. I could see him peripherally, and he was continuing to take pictures. I looked the other way, trying to hide my face.
“How will I find you?” Nick asked.
“Just find the bar. That’s where I’ll be,” I answered and made for the door.
Right before I got there, the photographer got close enough for a tight shot. He said my name, and I turned. Someone says your name, you look.
“Are you the redhead we’ve seen with Jack?” he yelled over the noise.
I tried to shake my head, not willing to say anything.
He looked at me carefully. His eyes widened as he put it together. “Fuck me, you are! You’re the redhead! Jesus, how old are you?” He snapped a few more pictures as I almost ran inside.
Unbelievable.
Once in the lobby, I found the bar directly. Now I could breathe a little easier. This was exactly what I’d been afraid of—that someone would recognize me from the pictures taken of us over the summer and in New York. I was shaking. It was naïve of me to think I could come here and not ruin this for Jack. Fuck.
I ordered a double dirty martini, light on the dirty.
I tried to calm down, foolishly thinking maybe the photographer would forget my name in the chaos quickly developing outside. So what if he had my name? No one knew who I was. But he had my picture, and he’d identified me as the redhead.
Shit, this was bad.
And clearly there was no question about whether I looked older than Jack. I sucked down the booze. I was usually not much of a drinker—strictly a two-cocktail limit—but tonight I needed all the liquid courage I could get.
I watched from my vantage point as the venue became more and more crowded. There were movie posters everywhere, and the mob was growing more and more wound.
I was working through my second double martini (to say nothing of at least three shots on the drive over) when I heard the crowd hit fever pitch. Nick had found me by then, and we made our way to the window to watch the show before the show.
The cast was arriving, actors with smaller roles first. It was a carefully orchestrated event. Rebecca soon appeared, and I was happy I’d get to spend time with her. She was a very cool chick. And then Lane was so cute. He was a natural on the red carpet, chatting with reporters and fans alike.
Suddenly, everyone got quiet. There was only one star not there, and one last limo had just pulled up.
And then Jack opened his door.
Utter. And. Total. Pandemonium. Ensued.
Women cried. Women fainted. Women yelled. Women screamed.
Jack stood and took it all in.
He was my Jack, and he was their Jack. He was Hollywood’s Jack. He was a movie star.
He worked the red carpet with a mix of self-deprecation and cocky strut. He owned that freaking crowd. He was a natural because he was not a natural.
He took pictures with the cast and kept really close to Rebecca. These two were going through something so specific and stylized—I was glad they had each other. I was grateful to her for helping him. And I had a feeling he calmed her as well.
Eventually he made it inside. I watched him work the room, looking around. For me? For his dad? Before I had a chance to get to him, someone else found him.
Marcia.
She was beautiful in person. She was poured into a gorgeous black dress, and her legs may have been six feet in length. She was radiant, she was stunning, she was young.
I was feeling no pain.
I watched her make eye contact with him from across the room. It was like freaking West Side Story. His eyes lit up as he saw her. They walked through the crowd toward each other, and I was frozen to the spot, unable to tear my eyes away.
Just friends. Just friends. Just friends.
My Aunt Fannie.
You don’t even have an Aunt Fannie…
Shut it.
Have another cocktail, why don’t you?
Great idea.
I was kidding.
They hugged like old friends. Old friends who’d shared something profound.
He caught my eye over her shoulder, and I raised my glass and an eyebrow to him.
He flinched and actually had the decency to look a little embarrassed.
I saw him talking to her, and I saw her turn to meet my eyes. She smiled warmly, and I smiled back. What is the opposite of warmly?
Coldly.
Yeah, yeah. I like that.
This is going to end badly, isn’t it?
Saddle up.
Chapter 13
As Jack walked Marcia over to meet me, I set my empty glass down and tried hard not to fidget. But I was a fidgeter from way back. Even Jack had noticed it, and he knew when I was nervous.
Upon arrival, he immediately took my hand and squeezed it. “Don’t fidget, Crazy. You look beautiful,” he whispered.
I smiled at him and turned to Marcia. She was still smiling brightly at me.
“Marcia, this is Grace,” he said, and my heart actually stopped when I heard him say her name. At one point he’d probably said it the way he said mine.
“Grace, I’m so happy to finally meet you. He talks about you all the time,” she said, and leaned into kiss both my cheeks.
Ah, shit. I don’t want to like this bitch.
Jack smiled. He was enjoying this.
I kissed her back and smiled.
“Yes. I’ve heard a lot about you recently as well,” I said, and she blushed a little.
“I know. Can you believe the rumors that get started?” she said.
Jack smirked as if to say “I told you so.” I gave him a sharp look, and he just rolled his eyes.
“I need to talk to you,” I whispered in a low voice, trying to convey urgency. I needed to tell him what had happened with the photographer.
“Oh, I already know what you want to talk about. That was the topic of conversation on the carpet out there,” he whispered back, arching an eyebrow and staring down at me.
“I don’t know what happened. I was just trying to get inside and—” I started, then Marcia interrupted me.
“Your dress is beautiful. Where’d your stylist find it?” she asked.
“Oh, I, uh, I found it myself. Bergdorf’s. New York. No stylist,” I stammered. This child was freaking me out, and I hated that. I wished I had another drink.
“Oh, that’s right. How are you enjoying Manhattan? It’s a wonderful place to live, isn’t it? Are you planning to sell your house here?” she asked, locking eyes with me.
Hmmm. She knew an awful lot about my plans.
“I don’t know yet what I’m going to do. It all depends on what happens with the show, doesn’t it, Sweet Nuts?” I asked, leaning further into his arm as he wrapped it around my waist.
“Sweet Nuts?” she asked, wrinkling her nose.
“Private joke,” I said, kissing on Jack’s neck.
With radar as good as the military, Holly swooped in just at that moment and took Jack’s arm. “I need you for a few minutes before the film starts,” she said to Jack. “Come with me please? Ladies,” she said in parting, shooting me the hairy eyeball.
“Ladies, I’ll see you in there,” Jack echoed. “Grace, we’ll talk about this later. Don’t worry,” he said. He tried to lean to in to kiss me, but Holly Go-Cockblocker was right there.
“Please,” she said and pulled him away with a furious glance at me.
“I’m sorry,” I mouthed, then realized I was alone with Marcia.
“So,” I started, and she looked at me expectantly.
But the universe was kind and sent me an angel. I felt giant paw-like hands wrap around my waist and lift me into the air.
“I wondered if you’d make it back for this circus,” a sexy voice purred, and I turned to look into a pair of ice-blue eyes.
“Lane!” I cried and gave him a big hug.
“Fuck, you look hot, Grace,” he said, stepping back to give me the onceover.
“Thank you, dear. And you are always pret
ty.” I laughed.
Just then Lane noticed who I was standing with, and he choked back a laugh. “Well, this looks interesting. What’s the topic of conversation, girls?”
We laughed a little uncomfortably, and then Marcia spoke up. “You know, everyone expects we wouldn’t get along simply because of a media-created story, but I can tell I like you already, Grace.” She smiled warmly.
Again with the warmly.
And how the hell did all these twenty-somethings get so damn mature? When I was her age I was struggling with college math and trying to figure out how to buy a new Jeep Wrangler. They were like mini adults.
Lane burped.
Thank Christ. Now I smiled warmly.
“Marcia, I’m sure once we get to know each other we’ll get along just fine. Now I’m going to find my date—a gay man since I can’t be seen in public with my real boyfriend. I should leave before someone takes our picture and writes a story about you with an unidentified redhead,” I said with a wicked grin.
“Ah, good idea. It was wonderful to meet you, Grace. You’re just as pretty as he said you were.” With a smile and a graceful turn, Marcia walked back through the crowd. Not a hair out of place, not a wrinkle on her dress.
I really didn’t want to like her, but I knew I would.
“Lane, Lane, Lane.” I sighed and leaned back against him. I motioned to the bartender for another.
“We gettin’ shitty tonight, Sheridan?” he asked, winking devilishly at me.
“Lane, I’m a grown-ass woman with a mortgage and a huge Bergdorf’s bill. I don’t get ‘shitty.’ But I am getting knee-walkin’ drunk.” I lifted my glass toward him. “You in?”
“Shall we drink to your newly outed relationship?”
“How the hell do you know about that?” I asked, eyes going all buggy.
“That’s all anyone is talking about out there. Three reporters asked me if I knew about you, and how long Jack had been with the older redhead,” he said.
“Great. I went from unidentified redhead to older redhead.”
Next thing you know you’ll be portly pepperpot redhead.
Shut it.
I sipped my drink and looked expectantly at him.