thirteen
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 in to 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,” 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 farther 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 told him. “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 tried to lean 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 pawlike 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 once-over.
“Thank you, dear. And you are always pretty.” 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 twentysomethings 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 the portly pepper-pot redhead.
Shut it.
I sipped my drink and looked expectantly at him.
“Hell, yes. Let’s get it on!” He laughed and asked for a shot.
We joked and talked as he attempted to calm me down. He felt certain this would totally blow over.
“So, where’s that hottie friend of yours—Holly?” he asked.
Again with the freaking radar, Holly instantly appeared at my side, taking notice of my third cocktail. What she didn’t know was it was my third just since getting here.
“Breaking the two-drink rule tonight, are we?” she asked, then ordered one for herself.
“Holly, how are you?” Lane asked.
Holly’s eyes went wide as she noticed my drinking buddy. “Lane. Nice to see you again. I’m well, thank you. And you?” Her voice seemed a little quivery.
What the hell?
“I’m great. Nice shoes,” he murmured, looking down at her red heels. She blushed all the way to the roots of her hair, then turned back to me.
“Listen, Jack saved seats for you and Nick right behind him and his dad. You should go in before they do, though, so you aren’t walking in together. We’ll continue to deny this as long as we can, although you giving your name to the paparazzi was not too smart,” she admonished.
“I didn’t mean—”
“Let’s not talk about it tonight. We’ll play this off. I just need to think about how,” she said.
“Where are you sitting, Holly?” Lane asked.
“I’m sitting with my client,” she said, and turned back to me. “Scoot. Nick’s waiting for you.” She gave me a little push.
I drained the rest from my glass and set it on the bar. I was starting to feel a little unsteady on my feet, but I kept it together—in exactly the way someone who’s been drinking thinks they’re fooling everyone. I heard Lane say something to Holly in a low voice, then Holly shot back, “Later!” But I couldn’t miss the excited flush to her skin when she said it.
This was a weird night.
I circled the room looking for Nick and found myself semi-hidden behind a potted palm. I noticed a well-dressed older man talking with Marcia, and as I heard his accent, I realized he was likely Jack’s father. He was tall and very distinguished, and I caught a glimpse of Jack in thirty years or so. Classy. And here I was hiding behind a potted palm.
Jesus, could I get any more After School Special?
He definitely knew Marcia, though. They were having quite a chat.
I totally listened. Their talk wasn’t so small.
“I like her. I think she’s good for him,” Marcia said. My chest burned.
“She is lovely, but I do wish he’d mentioned how much older she was.”
“Well, Jack’s kind of an old soul, and she seems to have a positive effect on him. I haven’t seen him this happy in a while,” Marcia said, suddenly my biggest fan.
I was such an asshole . . .
“You haven’t met her yet?” Marcia continued, leaning in.
“No, not yet. I thought Jack might introduce her last night, but at the last minute he canceled our dinner and decided to eat with her instead. I suppose I’ll meet her later. I wonder if Jack will make it through the film, though. You know how he feels about watching himself on-screen.”
They both laughed.
I headed for the theater before I could hear anything else about my being an old bag, and I finally spied Nick by the door.
“Where the hell have you been? Holly’s ready to have a cow,” he said, hands on hips.
“Oh, would you settle down, please?” I said, listing slightly.
“Grace, you’re drunk,” he said, sniffing me.
Very nearly.
“I’m just pleasantly lit, so back the fuck up, pretty boy,” I said, loudly enough to attract the attention of a few people walking in to take their seats.
“Oookay, let’s get you inside,” he said and took my arm.
We went down almost to the front, then slipped into the second row. I saw Rebecca talking to the director and waved exuberantly. She smiled and waved back, then whispered to him. I could tell she said the word girlfriend, and they turned to look at me.
Ah, well.
I saw Jack enter the theater with his father and Holly, and they all walked down to the front row. He winked at me as he passed and gestured me over. Nick helped me out of my chair, and I leaned across the back of the front row.
Jack stopped in front of me and went through the introductions with his father. This was now officially the most fucked-up night of my life. I was meeting my twenty-four-year-old boyfriend’s father at the Hollywood premiere of a movie in which he had the starring role. And I was well on my way to public intoxication.
“So, I finally get to meet the mysterious Grace who has my son so thoroughly charmed,” Jack’s father said as he reached for my hand, which he quickly brought to his lips.
I was the one thoroughly charmed. “And I get to meet the man from whom Jack obviously got his good looks. I can’t tell you how pleased I am to meet you, Mr. Hamilton.”
“You must call me Alex. I must be on a first-name basis with any woman who has swept my son off his feet the way you have, yes? Although I daresay that if I’d met you first, my son would have had a little competition.” He chuckled, and Jack rolled his eyes.
“Well, Alex, I daresay that I’ve always had a thing for older men, especially those from across the pond,” I bantered back. Jack’s father was still holding my hand.
“Well, there’s something to be said for those of us who have a little more life experience, isn’t there? Something Jack will no doubt learn as he gets a little older as well.” He smiled again and released my hand to slap Jack on the back.
I might be more than a little tipsy, but I could still small talk with the best of them. At least, as far as I knew. According to my internal drunk-o-meter, I was cool as a cucumber and not at all showing the effects of my numerous cocktails. No effects at all . . .
The three of us chatted warmly for a few more minutes until the director headed up to the stage to make a little speech before the movie began. I accepted a kiss on the cheek from Alex before returning to my seat in the second row, behind Jack. He turned and leaned in just as I was about to sit down.
“I got this for you. I know you like a little snack while you watch a movie.” He smiled and handed me a box of Milk Duds.
“Candy!” I exclaimed, ripping the box out of his hands with a little too much enthusiasm. I heard Nick sigh next to me as I tried to open the box. Then Jack offered to help me.
“I got it, I got it!” I insisted. I finally wrenched the top off and spilled Milk Duds all over the place. I smiled to everyone sitting around us. “Sorry, I just thought you might all like some candy,” I joked, finding myself hilarious.
“Funny, I thought you never shared candy,” Jack said, looking at me more carefully.
“Nope, I just don’t share candy with you.” I laughed loudly, and Holly turned from talking to Jack’s father.
“What the fuck?” she mouthed at me, and I dropped into my chair.
I saw her and Nick exchange glances, and that pissed me off. I wasn’t going to be handled. I started to stand up and say something to Holly to that very effect when the lights dimmed. The film was about to start.
“Are you okay?” Jack asked.
“Fine, love. I’m fine,” I said, shoving a Milk Dud in my mouth.
He glanced at Nick as well, and now I was really starting to get pissed. He sat down directly in front of me.
I was sitting behind my boyfriend on the biggest night of his life. I couldn’t even hold his hand, whisper to him, or give him a congratulatory kiss—although apparently the entire entertainment news community now knew Jack Hamilton had a granny fetish.
I sighed loudly and slipped off my shoes.
Nick leaned over and whispered, “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“The next person who asks me that will get their balls handed to them. I’m not kidding,” I whispered back through clenched, caramel-coated teeth.
He backed off.
The movie started.
I watched the back of Jack’s head watch his movie.
Ten minutes in, after fussing about in his seat the entire time, he took off. Literally. As soon as Jack saw himself on the screen, he bailed.
I’d tentatively reached out with my fingertip to touch the back of his neck when I saw him begin to fidget, but Nick had slapped my hand down. He was well versed in Holly’s rules for the night.
For fuck’s sake. I’d had about enough.
When he stood to get up, I almost did too. I had to force myself to wait five whole minutes before I stole out of the theater. Nick tried to grab my arm to stop me, but I was the one slapping his hand now. I was going to follow my Brit.
I found him by the bar. He was not alone. Marcia had already found him, and they looked to be sharing a cocktail. They were laughing. He looked calmer already. She was calming him. I saw a rogue photographer draw close but I no longer cared.
I turned and walked swiftly toward the ladies’ room, the sounds of their mixed laughter following me.
The lighting in the bathroom would have worked equally well for interrogation. The bags under my eyes were highlighted nicely, as were my laugh lines, which were suddenly not as funny as they used to be. My faced look haggard, tired, and sad.
So sad.
As I looked in the mirror, I saw a different image than earlier in the evening. My skin that I’d thought looked tanned and glowy now looked streaky and orange. My hair that I’d thought looked curly and wavy now looked frizzy and obnoxious. My eyes were puffy from the cocktails and had begun to resemble the cabbages they’d surely turn into tomorrow. They always did.
My phone beeped. It was a text from Jack.
Gracie
Where are you?
George
I also had a text from earlier. I hadn’t heard it come through.
Grace
The Village Voice is raving about you! New York misses you. When are you coming home?
Michael
I smiled. It was the only thing that had made me smile in more than an hour. New York was a world away from where I was tonight. And New York was a world I understood. A world I was kind of rising to the top of, actually. Not this ridiculous charade. I smiled again in spite of myself, and the door to the ladies’ room opened. It was Marcia.
“There you are. Jack’s looking for you,” she said, coming to stand next to me at the counter, under the same lighting.
Her skin was perfect. Her hair was perfect. Her face was smooth and unlined. She was a star. My smile faded. I belonged in some kind of dietary fiber commercial.
I turned to her. “Well, I saw him leave, so of course I went to follow him—you know, offer a little comfort to my one and only. But look at that, someone else beat me to the punch. I seemed a little unnecessary.” My voice was cutting and sarcastic.
“Grace, I didn’t follow him out there. I saw him out in the lobby and we just—”
I cut her off. “Enough. I’m too old for this crap. I don’t have the energy. Please tell Jack that I’m not feeling well, and I went home.” I barely managed to get the words out, the drunk tears starting to build. This was too much. I’d reached my limit. I was nearly out of control but wise enough to remove myself from the situation. I spun on my heel and made for the door.
“Grace?” she called after me.
My hand on the door, I turned wearily back toward her. She was still lovely.
“There’s something on your dress, on the back. It looks like, well, it looks like you sat in something,” she said, her face bright red.
I turned to look.
Fucking Milk Dud.
Right in the middle of my ass. It looked like I had a little turd stuck to me.
Of course you do.
You know when you just have one of those really shitty days? When nothing works, when it just gets worse and worse, and you think you’re going to burst into tears over and over again? But you keep it together. You don’t know how you do it, but you maintain. Then you do something stupid like stub your toe or drop your coffee, and that’s the last straw. And you lose your fucking mind.
I saw it clearly now. This was not my world. This was never my world. Jack needed someone better suited for this life. And it was not me. I didn’t deserve someone as wonderful and amazing as Jack. It didn’t matter that I loved him more than anyone in my entire life.
The writing was on the wall, the Milk Duds were on the chair. And I sat smack dab in the middle of them. I sighed heavily, my shoulders hunching over.
“Please don’t take this personally, Marcia, because I can tell you are honestly a nice person. And I know Jack would never be friends with a jerk, so I know you’re not. But you strike me as the kind of girl who has never, and would never, sit on a motherfucking Milk Dud. And I really can’t be around that kind of girl right now. It was nice to meet you. Take care of him, please.” I left the ladies’ room.
I walked straight through the lobby, not even bothering to hide my ass and the remnants of the Dud. I kept my head down as I made my way to the street, and, forgetting about trying to find my limo, I went through the line of fans, crossed the street, and hailed a cab.
I went back to my house, took off my dress, and left it in a puddle on the kitchen floor. I threw my shoes at the wall. I stood under the shower for a solid hour while my phone rang and rang and rang on the bathroom counter. When I got out of the shower, I put it in the freezer without even checking messages, and I grabbed the Absolut.
I sat on a lawn chair on the patio, drinking icy vodka from an “I Got Lei’d in Hawaii” shot glass shaped like a hula dancer.
After a while I heard a car pull up. I heard keys in the door. I heard loud footsteps clunking through the house, and I heard him yelling for me.
I didn’t answer.
I heard his voice getting closer and angrier. He finally came to the French doors on the patio and looked out into the darkness. He couldn’t see me, and he clicked on the floodlights.
They illuminated everything. My wet hair, the mascara all over, my vodka bottle. My tearstained face. My defeated face. My resigned and determined face.
“What the fuck, Grace?” he asked, face angry.
We stared at each other across the patio.
I set down the bottle and stood to face him. I was shockingly sober, considering the amount of alcohol I’d consumed.
“Jack, first let me apologize for leaving you tonight. I had to get out of there—”
“Why the hell did you leave?” he interrupted. “What—”
I held up my hand. “I’m not finished. Please let me say this. I’m sorry I left you tonight,” I began again, my voice very low and controlled.
He waited, then nodded for me to continue.
“This isn’t going to work, Jack,” I said, and I felt my body tense.
“What’s not going to work? What are you talking about?” He stepped out of the doorway and down onto the flagstone.
“This. Us. This isn’t going to work. We need to cut our losses now, before either of us gets in any deeper.” I was amazed at the sound of my voice. I sounded so in control.
A better word for it would be dead. You sound dead.
I felt dead.
“Are you kidding me with this shit? What the fuck is wrong with you, Grace?” he yelled. He actually yelled at me. He crossed the patio in three long strides and grabbed me by the arms. I flopped like a rag doll, lifeless.
“We should never have started this in the first place. We want totally different things, and we should stop this now. This has to stop,” I heard myself say. It was like I was underwater and could hear myself talking. The words were murky and thick. It didn’t even sound like me.
“You’re crazy, you know that? How in the world can you even think about ending things with me? You know we’re perfect together,” he said, his eyes pained. He knew I was serious.
His eyes pierced my veil, and I began to feel some things. Hurt. Sickness. Panic. Anger.
“Don’t say that. I see perfection, but I don’t see it here. Do you know how I felt, seeing you and her together tonight?” My voice began to rise.
“Oh, please, Grace. Is that what this is about? How many times can I tell you there’s nothing going on between Marcia and me?” His voice matched mine in intensity.
I ignored the way my stomach contracted when he said her name. “Oh, I believe you. I know you’re just friends. But that’s the kind of girl you should be with. A girl—not some geezery woman like me. And now that the press knows who I am, how old I am, they’ll fucking crucify me. We’ve been fooling ourselves to think this could work outside the little sex bubble we’ve been living in.”
He was quiet. He was so angry. I’d never seen him so angry. When he let go of my arms, I had little Jack-prints on my skin.
“I’ve never in my life seen someone deliberately run in the opposite direction of happiness more than you do,” he said, staring daggers into my eyes.
“What?”
“You heard me. You push it away as hard as you can. You and I both know there’s no one on the planet better suited for you than me, no one better equipped to handle all your shit, and yet here you are. Throwing it away like you don’t care.”
“I do care! I love you! But I just know in my heart this is wrong. You don’t need all my shit. It isn’t fair to you. That doesn’t mean I don’t love you, but this just isn’t the right time for us. You don’t realize how they’re going to blow this up, you dating a much older woman—they’re going to crucify you,” I said, my voice beginning to crack.
“Would you please let me decide what I can and can’t handle? Goddamn, Grace. You act like you’re so difficult. Did you ever stop to think that I need you, too? That you’re perfect for me? That you put up with my shit as well? You can’t just give me your love and then take it away without asking. It doesn’t work like that!” he snapped. He ran both hands through his hair, stopping with them on either side of his face.
I softened when I saw him look so sad, and he saw me weaken. He moved in fast.
He pressed his body into mine and kissed me hungrily, his hands finding their way inside my robe. I moaned in spite of myself, my body reacting the way it always did with his hands on me. It wasn’t enough, though.
I pushed away.
His face looked broken.
I placed my own hands on either side of his face, cradling it. We both had tears now.
“When you’re a little older, you’ll see this more clearly,” I said, and he closed his eyes.
When he opened them, they were cold.
“Don’t you dare bring my age into this when you’re the one acting like a child,” he glowered.
That was what I needed. I backed away, closing my robe and my heart to him. “I need you to leave,” I said, my voice as cold as his eyes. I was back in control, and I was making the right choice.
“Don’t do this, Gracie,” he pleaded, his voice softer now.
I turned away. I couldn’t look at him. “I have to. I need some time. I’ll call you when I can,” I said, effectively ending the conversation.
And us.
He walked away without another word.
I waited until I heard the car leave, and then I fell apart.
Eventually, I went inside and packed up my shit. I couldn’t look at our bed. I got my phone out of the freezer. I barely saw the Post-it and the picture.
I went to Holly’s. She took me in, fed me ice cream and aspirin, and didn’t yell at me for ruining her client’s big night.
She put me on a plane back to New York the next day.
Broken.
What had I just done?