twelve
When I got back to the house, Holly and Jack were holed up in my home office, which they’d turned into Premiere Central. He was on the phone, she was on the phone, and they both looked up when I came in.
“Hey, love, where’d you run off to?” he asked, covering the phone and gesturing me over. I went to him, sinking into his lap as he sat at the desk. He was talking to his dad, making plans to meet at the theater tonight.
Holly was trying to get a seamstress over to the house to take up her hemline a little bit more. The entire day was taking on the feeling of prom: heightened expectations, limo drivers, updos, and just-under-the-surface tension.
“I had to run to the drugstore to pick up a few things,” I lied smoothly. The thirty-minute drive had put me in a calm mood. I was very good at squelching things down, and after my breakdown and potentially scary realizations this morning, I was calling on all my squelch-down skills to keep things in check. Were these very skills part of the morning’s problem? Perhaps. But no time for that now. I was in melt-down-management mode.
Holly had one eye on us and one eye on her computer screen as she tried to manage every aspect of the day from this ill-equipped office. My house wasn’t yet ready for someone to be in it on more than a temporary basis. No DSL. No Wi-Fi. And her air card wasn’t working for some reason. It was driving her batty.
Finally, she’d had enough and threw her cell phone into her bag in disgust. “That’s it! I’m heading back to my house. That’s now the command center for this entire operation. Grace, you’re in charge of bringing your dress, your lunch, and your Brit to my house by noon, got it?” she yelled, getting that wild look in her eye that often appeared just before a big event.
“Yes. No problem,” I said, somewhat numbly. I was curled into Jack’s lap, his arms around me while he talked on the phone. I could barely feel him.
She rolled her eyes at me and waved at Jack. “I’ll see you at my house in a little while,” she told him, then nodded at me. “Walk me out?”
I peeled myself off Jack. He kissed me on the cheek as I pulled away, and I followed Holly to the front door. Outside there, she rounded on me.
“Now, look. Whatever you’re planning on doing, do not do it tonight! Not on his night. He’s nervous enough as it is. And I’m not convinced of this anyway. You need to really sit down and think about all this, before you say or do anything,” she added, hands firmly on my shoulders as if she were physically trying to ground me.
“I won’t. It’s fine. I’m fine,” I said.
“And promise me you won’t talk to Michael today?” she said, slinging her bag over her shoulder.
“Not that he has anything to do with this, but whatever,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“Mmm-hmm. Sure, Grace. I’ll see you at noon. Go take a shower. Remember, not tonight,” she shot back as she walked to her car.
I gave her the finger and turned back inside. I could hear Jack still on the phone, so I headed toward the bathroom. If we were going to pick up lunch, we’d need to get a move on.
I grabbed my things, my mind still racing. Hearing Jack coming toward the bedroom, I quickly locked the bathroom door. I stood, eyes wide in the mirror as I heard him come into the bedroom and walk across the floor. Then I saw the door-knob turn—once, twice, a third time, followed by a tentative knock.
“Gracie?”
“Yes?” I answered, eyes clinched tight.
“Why did you lock the door?”
He was right to question it. I’d never locked him out before. “Sorry. Habit from New York, I guess,” I said leaning against the door. I took a deep breath. Why was this suddenly so hard? I loved him. I knew this completely.
I could hear him breathing on the other side, probably wondering what was going on.
“Are you going to open it?” he asked, his voice teasing, but laced with something else.
I choked back a sob that had formed quickly and said, “Can you give me a minute? My tummy is a little upset.”
“Oh, hey, do you need anything? I can run and grab something for you. Ginger ale?” I could tell from his voice that his eyebrows were knit together, and he probably stared at the door with a curious look.
“No, no. I’ll be okay. Start thinking about what you want for lunch, and we can pick it up on the way to Holly’s,” I said before the tears began to fall again.
I turned on the water and was instantly underneath, the water and my tears mixing together. Everything I’d thought before this morning—and the carefully constructed calm I’d felt when I first returned from my getaway drive—was crumbling like a house of cards. The very foundations of everything I thought I knew had been thoroughly shaken, and it was me who had shaken them! I needed to get this under control fast, if I was going to be in any kind of shape to make it through tonight. This was going to be a long evening.
Ninety minutes later, we were at Holly’s. We’d picked up sandwiches from Nate ’n Al in Beverly Hills for later. Her place was a circus, and as we brought everything in, we saw car after car arrive, including Nick’s. Holly had hired hair and makeup for the two of us, and we’d be getting ready here. Jack had brought his suit with him last night to my house and now had it draped over his arm along with my dress, still hidden in a garment bag.
We all ate, and then Holly put Jack on the phone to do a few last-minute interviews. I’d managed to avoid any more mini-meltdowns, and was feeling a little calmer. I was going to be there for Jack tonight. This was the man I loved. I’d figure the rest out later.
As the day progressed, everything seemed to simultaneously speed up and slow down. Jack and I had no time alone together, and before I knew it, I was in my old room, in my bra and underwear, with rollers in my hair and a woman applying my makeup. Holly showed up in the doorway looking similar, although she’d had the taste to put on a robe.
She plopped down on the bed and watched me get primped. “You ready for this?” she asked.
“Yes, why?”
“Okay, then, I’ll give you the ground rules. Jack, get your British ass in here!” she yelled.
Almost instantly, he popped his head into the room. He raised his eyebrows at my skimpy attire, and I giggled in spite of myself. He made me melt like a thirteen-year-old every time he did that.
“Here are the rules, you two. No hand-holding, no touching, no kissing of any kind, obviously. You’ll arrive separately, and Grace, you’ll walk the red carpet with Nick. I’ll have one of my assistants working the line ahead of time, and if there’s too much speculation about whether Jack will be bringing a date, or any mention at all of an unidentified redhead, you’ll skip the red carpet altogether. Got it?”
At this, Nick stuck his head around the corner. “But I’ll still get to walk it by myself even if this little whore ruins it for herself, right?” he asked, outrage on his face.
“Nice, Nick,” Jack muttered.
“I would never take a red carpet from you, Nick. You can walk it alone if I can’t.” I laughed, seeing his eyes light up.
“So we can’t touch or kiss. Are we allowed to talk?” Jack said with a heavily sarcastic tone.
The tone was ignored by Holly as she considered his question. “Yes, you may talk. But only after everyone is inside, and only once the press clears out,” she answered, in full management mode now.
I was a little scared of her. Jack just looked scared period.
The stylist finished taking the rollers out of my hair, and the makeup artist gave me a final touch-up. Holly was next.
“Can you guys give us a few minutes, please?” I asked Holly and Nick.
“Yeah, let’s get me beautiful in my room,” Holly said. “Come on, Nick.” She winked at me, and they all filed out, leaving Jack behind.
“Nervous?” Jack asked.
“Yep, you?”
“Yep, a little,” he answered. He looked more than a little nervous.
“Come here,” I said, pulling him over to my side of the bed and opening my arms. He scooped me up and sat me on his lap. His arms went around me, and I cradled him to my chest, letting his head nestle into my nook. I scratched his scalp and kissed his hair, and hummed something, maybe a Christmas tune. I wasn’t really thinking about it. I could feel him relaxing as the band around my heart got tighter and tighter until I felt like bursting.
“Your heart is beating so fast,” he whispered, and I closed my eyes.
I kissed his cheeks, his forehead, his eyelids, his nose, and finally his sweet lips. “I love you, George. You know this, right?” I asked, my gaze fierce.
“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 pulled me in for one last kiss.
I took a deep breath, centered myself, and began to get ready.
The dress Leslie and I’d 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, this morning’s bagel aside. I was relieved to see it had paid off. The dress was silk, shaded 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 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 jawline, 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 said breathlessly, 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 said, 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.
“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, then hurriedly wiping it off before Holly could yell at us.
“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.
As we pulled away, Jack was smiling.
“Are you excited to be meeting Jack’s dad?” Nick asked as he straightened my dress around me.
“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 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, LIE 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 semigraceful, 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 a 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 following 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. 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 naive 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 wasn’t usually 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, and 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.