The Redhead Plays Her Hand

twenty

Jack was back, but all was not roses and tidy strings neatly tied up. He’d made an ass of himself but good, and he had some work to do. Over the next few days, all the chickens came home to roost, and he had more problems than he’d bargained for.

He had to start with Holly, who, while glad he was safe and seemingly off his bender, had gotten the brunt of his nasty while in Vegas, and she let him have it. She came over the night after we got back, and I hightailed it right out of the room when I saw how this was going to go. But he needed to hear it; he needed to know how his actions had affected people. And he did know it. He told me later he was okay with her yelling at him because he knew he deserved it. He also knew she wouldn’t yell if she didn’t care.

They came to an agreement about future promotions: that he would have more control over events and interviews he agreed to. He would do what he needed to do to promote his projects, but he’d have final say in how extended he was.

The conversation with Lane went much easier, in the way conversations between two guys almost always do. Lane came over a few days after Jack was back, took one look at the now barely there black eye and bruises, and started laughing. Slapping him on the back, Lane followed Jack out to the patio, and I could hear them trading insults within minutes. Honestly.

The real trouble Jack had got himself into was legal, and there was a lot of it. The club owner, that guy’s partners, and at least half of the people who were there that night were suing for damages. Hospital bills, loss of income, property damages—they saw the opportunity to go after a celebrity, and go after him they did. But he handled it. He met with his lawyers and began the process of settling out of court for most of the charges. He didn’t face any criminal charges, and for that we could be thankful. No embarrassing trial, no media circus. It could be managed as privately as possible.

The media? They had a field day. They printed accounts from people who were there that night and posted as many pictures as they could from all the nights when Jack looked drunk and disorderly. Most of his fans stuck with him, however, posting letter after letter in chat rooms and on message boards. They told him how much they loved him and how they hoped things were getting better.

It was funny how people who had never met him, would probably never meet him, felt they knew him. And while there were always going to be fans who thought he belonged to them somehow, that they were entitled to know everything about him no matter how personal, most of them just adored him and wanted him to be happy. They loved their Super Sexy Scientist Guy, sure, but it now became clear they loved Jack Hamilton just as much. Not all celebrities get a second chance the way he seemed to be. Fans could be fickle and turn on a dime. But they loved him, and they rallied.

And speaking of celebrity, Adam was everywhere: still out every night, always where the cameras seemed to be, and always just available enough for comments. Jack had spoken to him a few times, and their lawyers had spoken a few times as there was a shared responsibility for some of the actions of that night, but Jack hadn’t seen him since we’d been back in L.A.

One night, flipping through channels before bed, Jack stumbled onto a gossip show, and there was Adam, outside a club in Hollywood with three girls and a bunch of cameras, totally in his element. He watched it for a few minutes while I stood in the doorway, not saying a word. He glanced at me, then back at the TV.

“That guy’s kind of a dick,” he said, then changed the channel.

He didn’t even see the pillow coming when I threw it at his head.

Jack stuck pretty close to home during this time, not quite cocooning but just . . . breathing. He read scripts, he helped me run lines, and he eased back into a tentative friendship with Michael, which had always been tenuous at best. Michael continued to be quite protective of me, and he didn’t go as easy on Jack as Lane did. But as a week passed, and then another, things began to get back to normal.

But it was us after all, and the normal was never actually normal. A point proven once more by a phone call from Holly one afternoon. A call she asked us both to be on.

Perched on Jack’s lap, I took the call with him from the patio. In the shade of the lemon trees, we exchanged pleasantries with her until she cut right to it.

“So, Jack, I got a call today asking if you’d be interested in presenting an award at this year’s Emmys.”

I felt Jack freeze underneath me. He hadn’t been out since that night in Vegas, had declined every interview request, and essentially hadn’t been seen since everything had exploded. I scratched at his scalp a bit, letting him feel me. He patted my leg absently, taking a deep breath.

“Hmm, well . . . I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. You?”

“Actually I think it’s a brilliant idea,” Holly countered. “It’s a good way for you to be seen again. You’re a film actor, and the Emmys always has a few movie stars. They’ll be thrilled if you say yes. You can wave to fans, the red carpet is always an easy line to work—no tough questions. Plus you look pretty great in a suit.”

He looked at me. I shrugged to say, It’s up to you.

“I’ll think about it. When do I need to let you know?”

“Soon. It’s kind of a last-minute thing, but it could be a great way to get you back out there.”

He rolled his eyes at that, but in a good-natured way. He’d stuck close to home, but he was getting a little stir-crazy, I could tell. It was time for the movie star to head back into Hollywood. But on his terms. He drummed his fingers on my thigh, thinking it over. “You know what? Fuck it. I’ll do it.” He smiled.

“Well, hold on there, Brit boy. There’s something else to consider.” She paused, and the drumming on my thigh stopped. “They want Grace to present as well.”

Come again?

“Sorry, Holly, they want me?” I’m amazed I remembered how to speak.

“Sure. Your show’s a fucking hit. I’m surprised it took them this long to ask, but that’s showbiz.”

Holy shit. I drummed my own damned thigh.

“But wait, so Jack and I’d be at the same awards? This isn’t the same as us being at a party, same-place, same-time kind of thing,”

Jack started to fume. I put a finger to my lips to shush him. I wanted to hear this. It was something we had to consider.

“Well, that’s the real question, isn’t it?” Holly said. “How do you want to play this off? You know how I feel. I still don’t think it’s a good idea for you two to go public. Jack is a huge draw, and girls want to know anything and everything about him. Knowing that he is officially off the market? Won’t go over well.”

Jack was about to come out of his seat. Good thing I was sitting on him.

“And for the record, Jack, because I know you’re about to come out of your seat, I’m thinking about Grace too. Coming out publicly as your girlfriend affects her as well. You saw how much hate she got when people first just started thinking you weren’t single. You let everyone know she’s your main squeeze? That opens up a whole new level of bullshit for her.”

Jack came out of his seat. I signaled for the phone.

“Hey, Holly, let us call you back, okay?”

“Sure, sure. Is he pacing?”

“He’s pacing.”

“Are his nostrils flaring?”

“A bit. Let me call you back.”

“Grace, this is huge for you. You two do whatever you want, and you know I’ll support it. I work for you. Don’t forget that. But if you’re asking me my professional opinion, it’s to not go public. Pure and simple.”

“I hear you.”

“The Emmys, Grace. They want you to be a presenter. Next year? You’ll be nominated. I promise you that.”

My heart left my body, flew around the backyard, and starting picking lemons off the tree. Holy shit, this was big-time.

“Call me back and let me know, fruitcake.”

“Yep,” I breathed, and hung up, not taking my eyes off Jack, who had stopped pacing and stood before me, tense. “What are you thinking?” I asked.

“I think you should go. One hundred percent you should go,” he said instantly.

“And you? You still in?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. I think maybe this is one you should do alone.”

“Now wait a minute. We both need to go.” I pulled at the bottom of his shirt and moved him in between my legs as I sat on the back of the love seat. “I bet Holly has a plan already of how we could both go and still keep up appearances. You know she’s thought this through from every angle.”

His hands went automatically to my hips, and he played with a loose string at the end of my skirt as different arguments were fought across his features, all without saying a word. “How do I say this without sounding like a pompous ass?” He took a breath. “I don’t want to make a night like this—a big night for you—about me. And if I’m there, I’m afraid that’s what it will be. That’s what they’ll make it into.” His eyes were sad.

“Oh, is that all? Pfft, I can handle that.” I took his hands and wrapped them more snugly around my waist. “I’m going to the Emmys, George, like, on purpose. Going to the Emmys. Presenting. At the Emmys—did I tell you that part?”

He smirked, letting me draw him in. “You mentioned something about that. I suppose I’ll have to go too, make sure you don’t get into any trouble.”

“Trouble. Ha. Not me,” I teased, raising my eyebrows as he wrapped his strong arms around me and picked me up, my legs crossed behind his back. “I’m glad you’re doing this. In fact, I think I’ll even wear a slutty dress for you that night, just to drive you crazy.”

“Fucking Nuts Girl,” he growled, racing me across the yard and into the house.

“I need to call Holly back. Wait, wait, slow down, slow down, slow— Mother-of-pearl, that feels good . . .”

True to form, Holly had indeed had a plan ready to go in the event we both said yes. Reluctantly (some of us more reluctant than others), we all agreed it was best for all involved if Jack and I continued to keep our relationship private and not for public consumption. Jack didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all, but when he looked at it objectively, he knew it was still the best course of action.

The plan was remarkably simple: We’d take Michael and Holly as our plus ones. Holly would arrive with Jack, which made sense. Actors took their managers to premieres and award shows all the time, and this way she could be by his side to help manage the questions he’d be asked on the red carpet, just in case a reporter forgot their manners. Michael would go with me, which was again something totally within the realm of the possible. As the creator and head writer of a hit show—a show I starred in and had been invited to the Emmys as a representative of—not to mention being lifelong friends, his walking the red carpet with me would not only make perfect sense, we’d also give them a great story.

We could both go. Separately. And together. Kind of?

And so we found ourselves together in the line at the biggest awards show in television—just in separate limos. We texted each other.

Nervous?

I smiled down at his words on my phone.

A little, you?

I looked out the window at the line of cars, wondering how close to the front we were.

Jack and I had spent the day at the Peninsula hotel getting ready, and by that I mean it took me all day to be buffed and sprayed, teased and twisted, then poured into a dress and sewn in place while he stepped into his suit ten minutes before we left.

And damn did he look good. He ran a hand through his hair, called it good, and was ready to go. Every female in the room sighed when we saw him. It was impossible to be that close to sex incarnate and not need to steal an extra breath or two.

But it seemed all he could see was me, in my not-so-slutty dress after all.

Dressed by a new designer who delighted in working with an actress with curves, I was draped in green silk that shimmered and slithered with every step. I was old Hollywood meets the twenty-first century, and my earlobes sparkled with emeralds that hadn’t been outside a vault since Eisenhower had been in office, on loan from Van Cleef & Arpels. The gems were big enough to choke a horse, and they hung heavy, dripping with sprays of diamonds and barely dusting my shoulders. An emerald the size of a quail’s egg sat on my left hand, catching the light.

And while I could’ve hung a rope of the same around my neck and played Dynasty with the big girls, I kept to what I knew. As Jack’s eyes moved over me again and again, I traced the necklace he’d given me, feeling the words he’d had engraved there.

After a moment, he grinned that wicked grin. “Brilliant,” he pronounced, taking my hand and bringing it to his lips for a kiss. My glam squad sighed in chorus behind me. “Quite a rock you’ve got there,” he remarked, his fingers pressing around the ring, feeling the band. He turned my hand over and pressed a wet kiss in the center of my palm, still fingering my ring.

“There’s a guard over there who came with the jewelry. He’ll have you up against that wall in seconds if you try to steal my bling,” I joked as his eyes flicked over my shoulder. Looking back at me again, he said in a voice low enough for only me to hear: “Speaking of up against that wall . . .”

I must have moaned louder than I thought, as the entire room burst into embarrassed giggles.

“Okay, you two, get it out of your system now,” Holly warned, breezing into the room, all business but dressed in a red sequined gown that said the opposite of business. This was the likely reason Michael’s eyes were bulging out of his sockets.

I shook my head to clear it, still swimming in the images Jack had planted in my brain. Me up against the wall, his hands slipping beneath my skirt, sliding down my body and pressing his tongue against my—

Ding dong.

Gross.

The doorbell brought me back to the present, a present where Jack chuckled, knowing exactly where my brain had been.

“Okay, people. First limo is here. Michael, you’ll take Grace. Jack and I will follow in a bit,” Holly instructed, moving efficiently through the room toward the door.

With this schedule, I’d be arriving well ahead of Jack. I’d likely be through the press line and inside before he even arrived, almost completely negating the possibility of us being photographed together.

Moving as quickly as I could in my dress, which was literally only a breath bigger than I was, I went to say good-bye.

“See you there but, you know, not see you there.” I pressed a kiss on his cheek.

“Can’t wait to see you on that stage, Grace. You look stunning,” he replied, kissing me square on the lips.

“She’s gonna kill you.” I laughed as Holly came running over.

“Ack! You smudged her lipstick! And you, with a big kiss mark on your cheek? It’s like you people have no idea what I’m trying to do here.” She fussed over both of us, surprising Jack when she licked her fingers and started rubbing his face.

“Ew!” he exclaimed.

Laughing out loud, I let Michael lead me away from the room and down to the limo.

Which is where I now sat, moments away from walking the red carpet with my very good friend, who had written something so amazing it actually led to my being here. This was as much an acknowledgment for him and his work as it was for me.

My phone buzzed again, another text from Jack.

Not nervous. Just wish it was later tonight. When I have you all to myself again.

My tummy whooshed, going silly once more at his devil words. If the world only knew—seconds before stepping out on a red carpet—the dirty texts that were flying back and forth.

My face grew hot, and I glanced up at Michael, who was texting as well.

“Holly?” I asked.

He nodded. “Yep. They just got here, probably twenty cars behind us in line.” He put his phone away and inclined his head toward the car door. “Looks like it’s our turn.”

I took a deep breath, or as deep as I could in my green skin suit, as he opened the door. Stepping out first, he turned to take my hand and help me out of the car as the sounds of the crowd broke over me.

Wow.

A smile I didn’t have to fake spread across my face as I looked down the red runner that cut through the beautiful chaos. As my dress swirled around me, caught in a sudden breeze, I saw flashbulbs pop everywhere. Me! They were taking pictures of me.

I could hear my name being called from all directions, and I turned to see the stands of fans, people who had come to watch and cheer on their favorite stars. They said my name! They were screaming for me, for me.

I felt the energy wash over me, tugging from all directions. It was heady. Feeling Michael’s hand at my back, friendly and grounding, I willed myself forward and we made our way through the crowd. I smiled at faces I recognized—faces I realized I recognized only because they were famous! Holy shit! Everywhere I looked I saw someone I knew. Either I grew up with them on television, or I watched them on my favorite shows now.

I took Michael’s arm, squeezing it, trying to keep my face in check and resisting the wild urge I had to jump up and down, dance and twirl and shout, “Christ on a crutch, how is this my life?”

He totally seemed to get it, and he squeezed back, enjoying this moment with me, totally on the same wavelength. I think we handled it well. We mingled and met, stopping periodically for pictures with some of the biggest names in entertainment.

Handlers ushered me on to the step and repeat to pose for pictures. I stood there, the light from hundreds of cameras popping and snapping from every direction, and relished in the feel of silk whispering against my skin. I felt good, I looked pretty, and I was out of my mind happy.

Once I took my turn, I stepped back into line with Michael, who accompanied me farther down the red carpet. It was like a sparkly but well-oiled machine, with reporters and cameramen lined up and waiting to talk to everyone as they made their way inside.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped up to the first reporter.

“Grace Sheridan, so nice to see you tonight!” she oozed. “You look fabulous. Who are you wearing?”

I smiled and nodded and played the game. I answered questions about my dress, my jewelry, the weather, who I was excited to see tonight, what award I was presenting, what was coming up on the next season of Mabel’s Unstable?, who I was here with. Who was I here with? That was the question they asked as craftily as possible. One even went as far as to ask, “We see that Jack Hamilton is also presenting tonight. Anything you want to say about that?”

I smiled big, showing my teeth. “I’m excited to see all the stars here tonight. The more the merrier.”

I was getting really good at this.

Michael moved with me down the line, some reporters asking him a few questions when they realized he was the writer behind Mabel’s Unstable? We were almost done when he stepped away from me to take a call. One last reporter in the line, and then I was free and clear to head inside. But just as I stepped in front of her, I heard the crowd roar louder than they had all night. I turned around and saw him.

In front of his limo, there was Jack Hamilton. He waved to the crowd, and the orchestrated chaos became like a sonic boom. Girls screamed and yelled, bounced and shimmied, and those who had signs for him waved them frantically. He laughed, and the photographers went ballistic, flashes popping as he sauntered over to sign some autographs. Alone.

No Holly.

I turned to where Michael had gone, and when I caught his eye, I raised my eyebrow. He came back to my side, still on the phone.

“Sweetie, it’s fine. No, really, it’s fine. They’ll be okay. It’s not like you have any control over it,” he said into the phone, then covered it to lean over to me. “She got sick in the limo right before they pulled up, so she had to stay in the car.”

“Oh no. Is she okay?” I said, wrinkling my nose at the thought. Getting sick in a formal dress? I bet she was not very comfortable.

“She’s fine. She’s more pissed than anything, but what are you gonna do? Leave it to my girl to get morning sickness only in the afternoon.” He grinned and returned to his phone conversation with Holly. “Yep, there are saltines in your purse. I put them in there just in case . . .”

If you were watching at home that night, here’s what my interview sounded like, seventeen seconds after getting this news:

“We’ve got Grace Sheridan here with us tonight, star of the new hit Mabel’s Unstable? Grace, how are you?”

“Um, what?”

“Grace, how are you tonight? You look great. Excited to be here?”

“Excited? Wait, what?”

“Um, yes, well, you look excited. Overwhelmed even a bit, maybe? Happens to the best of us, right? So, who designed your dress?”

“What? Oh, they’re from Van Cleef and Arpels.”

“Okay, that was Grace Sheridan. Go ahead and head on inside. Grace Sheridan, everybody!”

I stumbled off the pedestal and back over to Michael, where he was just hanging up the phone. “Holly’s pregnant?” I asked. My mouth was still hanging open, so it came out in a slur.

He stopped in his tracks. “Dammit, I thought she told you! She told me she was going to tell you. Oh, I’m dead.” He shook his head as a giant grin split his sweet face in two.

I could feel tears burning as a lump formed in my throat. “She’s going to have a baby?” I could feel my own grin springing up. A baby?

“Well, yeah, we are.” He nodded. Proud papa already.

Oh my. Before I could say anything else, a woman with a clipboard approached and began ushering me toward the entrance. “This way, Ms. Sheridan.”

A baby. And look how happy Michael was. He was with the one he loved.

The world narrowed, focused down. The crowd quieted to a dull roar in my ears. I saw Michael’s face, still smiling. I saw the woman with the clipboard waving me forward. But I spun, catching sight of Jack at the other end of the red carpet. There were countless people between us: handlers, stars, reporters, cameramen, awards-show staff with their clipboards, but through them all, I could see Jack.

With a reporter. He was only in profile, but I could see him. His jaw was clenched, and he was running his hand through his hair repeatedly, worrying it. He looked flushed, on edge.

Holly wasn’t with him. No one was running interference.

The reporter leaned in, a vapid grin on her face. Her body language was predatory, eager. Every reporter after her was also looking at him, jockeying for position. Jack moved on to the next stop, smiling nervously, but almost immediately he looked defensive again. He crossed his arms over his chest and rubbed at his face.

What the hell were they asking him? He looked miserable.

I looked back at Michael, glowing at having let the cat out of the bag, happiness oozing out of every pore. The look on his face was every bit as dazzling as all the borrowed bling on this red carpet. I looked back to Jack, unglued and under attack.

I took off, my feet carrying me as fast as they could move in my fancy shoes, dodging famous faces and hungry hangers-on. I could see photographers take notice, and several began moving along with me as I got closer. I was close enough to hear the reporter ask, “So, Jack, we’ve heard about the drinking, the gambling, the wild nights out on the town, and now you’ve been hit with numerous lawsuits. What’s going on? What can you tell us?”

Just as he flinched, his entire posture tightening as he fought between fight and flight, I reached his side. I placed my hand on his shoulder, then ran it down his arm. As I reaching the crook of his elbow, I turned him toward me ever so slightly. When he realized it was me, his eyes widened, eyebrows raising in surprise. Taking the opportunity, I slid my hand farther down his arm to thread my fingers with his, and I grasped his hand firmly. Dropping my gaze from his for only a second, I smiled at the reporter. She seemed to be just now realizing who I was and what she’d gotten on tape.

Stifling a laugh, I looked back at Jack, who was now biting down on his lower lip, his entire face lit up. I winked at him, tugged on his hand, and led him away.

We walked down the red carpet together, and the fans in the stands lost their minds. As the cameras whirled and photographers almost fell over one another, I looked up at him, grinning as he relaxed and squeezed my hand. We stopped in front and let the press get their shot.

“Grace! Jack! Jack and Grace, look over here! Over here!”

For three solid minutes, I saw nothing but flashes—except when I looked to my left and saw Jack. And each time we looked at each other and smiled, the photographers went even more crazy. Their shouts growing even more frenzied. I laughed as Jack tucked me in to his side. The smile on his face bloomed even wider as his arm went around my waist. In public.

He leaned in to whisper in my ear. “Do you have any idea what you just did, Crazy?”

I grinned as he brushed a curl behind my ear. “Pretty quick thinking for a girl who isn’t even wearing panties.”

The shot on the cover of almost every magazine for the next week was me laughing, with Jack’s mouth hanging wide open.