The Redhead Plays Her Hand

thirteen

I loved spending quality time with my new trainer, Megan.

“As far as I can tell, you were doing great, Grace, and then you crashed your system with that stupid diet. You worked out too much, you weren’t eating enough, and your body responded by holding on to everything once you started eating again. It’ll take some time, but we can get a little of this off, although you’re pretty much where your body wants you to be.”

“My body wants me to be high in the sky, twisted like a pretzel?”

“In the meantime, we work on your inner strength.” She laughed, ignoring my feeble joke, as she downward dogged me on the balcony. Megan was an actual exercise physiologist, with a degree and zero interest in being an actor. She had her own workout facility high above the city in the Wilshire corridor. She was organic, honest, and a breath of fresh air. Literally, up this high, you could smell the ocean above the smog. I looked forward to these workouts.

“I just want to get back to where I was, that’s all.” I sighed through my legs as she had me switch poses.

“I’d like you to be even better than you were before.” She winked. “What does your boyfriend think about everything?”

“Please. He thinks the more for him to love, the better.” I snorted, her hands on my hips as she coaxed me into another shape. And it was true. Jack loved me for who I was, hips and all. Just wish the press did. After Holly put out a statement ridiculing the website that posted the pictures of Jack and his costar, the press pounced on me. And again, every time they showed Jack with this younger actress, they did a side by side of me. Always at a weird angle; always with me looking bigger than I was. For God’s sake, I was a size 8! But that was a tank in Hollywood, apparently, and no one was going to let me forget it.

But in the other camp, a smaller but quite vocal group of women online were expressing their support. More than one blogger had written about the fuss being made about my weight, increasing the dialogue about women on film and TV and the thin-thin-thin image we were all supposed to mold ourselves into. Not gonna lie, those bloggers made it easier for me to grin and bear this idiocy.

Speaking of grinning and bearing it . . .

“Okay, uncle! Uncle, I give!” I collapsed to the mat and breathed heavily after the last set of crunches were finished. Megan laughed and threw me a bottle of water, which I took gratefully. Drinking it down, I stared out at Los Angeles. From this high up, the palm trees swayed in the breeze, the glitter from a hundred Bentleys making the street below sparkle. What a town. Absently I rubbed my necklace from Jack.

His public.

His public continued to rage about me, online at least. The pictures of him and his new costar had brought another round of sniping from his biggest online fan clubs. He was never really dating me—I was a cougar who was fame hungry—it was exhausting. What was I to do? Did I admit that I hated what the press was saying about me? Did I comment? Did I shy away? Did I cower in the corner, or did I come out swinging, teeth bared and claws out like a cougar?

And in addition to all this bullshit going on about the size of my ass and whether I was sleeping with Sexy Scientist Guy, I had the biggest thing ever in my professional career going on. Which, by the way, was being overshadowed by this inane chatter. Would be nice if that could be the focus.

Glad to see we are getting back on track here . . .

My new show was set to premiere next week, and there were more interviews to go to, radio shows to call in to, hoops to jump through, and talk show hosts to charm. And I was supposed to be focusing on potted plants and their place in my natural world?

Pick your path. You don’t get to decide how the public reacts. You only get to decide how you react.

True, very true.

Victim? Warrior? Pick. Your. Path.

As I was contemplating, I saw a woman walk nervously into the gym, peering through the window. Pretty. Plump. Her eyes darting everywhere, she tensed when she saw me watching her. Her hands tugged at her T-shirt, pulling it down a bit, trying to cover up probably without even knowing it. I smiled at her, and she seemed to relax, but only a bit. Megan spied her through the window and waved her out.

“Hey, Chelsea, I’ve gotta take a quick call,” Megan told her. “Go ahead and start stretching out for a few, and then we’ll get started, okay?” She grabbed her phone and ducked back inside. Chelsea looked at me, then did a double take.

“Um, are you Grace Sheridan?”

“Have we met before?” I asked, walking over after picking up my bag.

She smiled shyly at me, again picking at her shirt and tugging it down a bit. “Well, um, I’m a big fan of Jack Hamilton.” She blushed furiously. “And, well, you know, you’re kind of all over the Internet lately.” She blushed even more.

“Ah, well, yes. That’s true.” I chuckled. “And you’re correct. I’m Grace.” I extended my hand to her.

She shook it with a grin. “I’m Chelsea. Oh my God, I can’t believe it! I’ve been seeing commercials for your new show. I can’t wait!”

“Really? Wow, that’s great. You’ll have to let me know what you think after next week.”

“I gotta tell you, at first I only knew who you were because of, well, your pictures with Jack. And you know, at first, of course, I was jealous because, well, my God, he’s gorgeous!”

She giggled, becoming more animated as she talked. I laughed with her, nodding my head. He was gorgeous.

“But then, when the press started picking on you? Dammit, that pissed me off! And I thought, well, shit, if anyone is gonna be with that beautiful man, I like the idea that it’s someone like you. Does that make sense? Sorry, I know I’m babbling, but I have to know, are you two dating? Please tell me yes,” she finally ended, breathing heavily. Her eyes were dancing, her cheeks still pink.

I took a breath on my own. “If I say yes, are you going straight to TMZ?” I winked.

“Fuck no!” she exclaimed, then slapped her hand over her mouth. “I mean . . . actually, I do mean fuck no!”

“Then fuck yes, we’re dating,” I answered, and she squealed.

I threw my head back and laughed, louder than I had in a while. As we laughed, Megan came sauntering back outside, looking like a very pretty drill sergeant.

“Grace? You still here? Usually my clients can’t wait to get out of here when I’m done with them. Chelsea, get your ass over on that mat and strike a mean warrior pose!”

Warrior?

Fuck yes. I spun toward Megan.

“Megan, what if I told you I never wanted to weigh myself again. How would you feel about that?”

“Awesome.”

“And if I said I didn’t care what I weighed, as long as I was strong?”

“Awesome.”

“Fantastic. Thanks, Megan. Nice to meet you!” I called over to Chelsea, who was indeed striking a mean-ass warrior pose.

“You too, Grace! And tell Jack I said hi!” She giggled, her warrior becoming a little unbalanced as Megan pushed me to the door.

“Go away now, Grace. Can’t have you distracting my clients.” She shook her head.

“I’m going, I’m going. But seriously, I’m not weighing myself anymore,” I told her.

“Good girl.” She winked.

I left feeling lighter than I had in weeks.