The Unidentified Redhead (1) (18 page)

The female lead was in her thirties and an aging beauty queen. The entire show was based around her coming to terms with her age, no longer being the ingénue, and dealing with the aftereffects of a messy divorce. It was about a second life, redefining yourself all over again. It was sweet and funny, and the music I'd already heard was amazing.

This show was me. I was all over it. Now I just had to sell the director on it. I was new to show business as far as they knew me. All I really had going for me was Holly, and she had to sell like hell to even get me the initial audition. But once I was in the door, it had been all me. This was my first real test, my first real reentry into the industry, and I was taking full advantage.

I was ready. I was excited. And if I booked this job, I would be ecstatic.

***

When I arrived, I met with two of the New York producers, the director, and I was supposed to meet the writer, but he had just stepped out. As I chatted with them, the director asked how long I had known Holly.

“Oh gosh, we've known each other since college! We were roommates, and then we both moved out to L.A. within a few months of each other. She's great.”

“Yes, I've worked with her on several castings over the years. Holly's fantastic.” He smiled and I smiled back, proud of my friend who was obviously so well respected within the industry.

“Ah, here's our writer! Michael, we'd like you to meet—”

“Grace? Grace Sheridan?”

The voice was familiar. I turned around, an expectant smile on my face. He seemed to already know me. Then I saw him. Of course he knew me.

He had broken my heart thirteen years ago.

Dammit, Holly…

***

“Seriously, Holls, what the fuck?! How could you send me in there blind like that?” I yelled, swerving in and out of traffic like a crazy person. People were honking at me and I flicked off at least three of them at once.

“Grace, calm down. I had no idea it was the same Michael O'Connell. I mean, what are the odds?”

“What are the odds, indeed,” I grumbled, as I cut someone else off. “Shut up!” I yelled as the man flashed his lights at me, screaming obscenities.

“Wow, settle. Hang up the phone and come to the office. Tell me here, where you can't hurt anyone.”

“Don't bet on it,” I warned, yanking my Bluetooth out and stepping on the gas, almost causing another accident.

***

When I was in college, I had a huge crush on one of my best friends. He was in drama school with Holly and me. We were all great friends, but Michael O'Connell was my favorite.

He was incredibly talented. His talent was what drew me to him first. He was still the funniest guy I had ever met; quick witted, dry and an amazing sense of timing. Like a lot of comedic actors, he also had a sweet emo streak that, when cast in dramatic pieces, made us all weep.

He always seemed to be a little interested in me. It was especially evident when I would perform, particularly when I would sing. He would watch me, and I could see the 'friend' face slip away, and it was just a guy watching a girl that he liked. But he would keep me at arms length otherwise, always eternally my 'buddy.'

It was infuriating.

Then, at the end of junior year, he stunned us all with the news that he was going to be transferring to a fine arts college in Boston, starting in September.

All summer, I knew I had to put up or shut up. I attempted to get him alone constantly, but as we all hung out in a group so much, it was tough. He knew, whether consciously or not, how I felt about him, and he kept me away.

Not to brag, but no one said no to me back then. I dated our college quarterback, the president of the best fraternity on campus, and was briefly tied to a Physics professor. And this guy, this drama geek was dodging me. Fuck all that noise.

At a cast party in June, I got drunk, and confronted him. Holly, Michael and I were in the kitchen, knee deep in crappy pot and Lynchburg Lemonades when I saw him looking at me, really looking at me—like I always caught him doing when I was on stage.

I didn't think about what I was going to do, but without warning or much thought at all, I pushed him up against the pantry and kissed him, long and hard. I heard Holly say, “It's about time,” and walk out of the kitchen. His eyes were surprised, but then he got into it. He kissed me back, both of us dropping our drinks. I finally pulled back and told him in no uncertain terms that he was coming home with me that night. He agreed.

It had been amazing. We made love all night…and I hate the term “made love”…but that's what it was. It was three years of love and lust spilling out, and the fact that we were such good friends made it even better. He told me he had been in love with me since freshman year.

I lay awake all night, planning. He couldn't leave now…he said he was in love with me. And once I kissed him, I realized that I was in love with him, too. It went way beyond a crush. This was who I wanted. I couldn't wait for the next morning.

As it turned out, I really could have waited. It was all kinds of awkward. He wouldn't even look at me. He was out of there as fast as he could put his pants on, and when he saw me later that day backstage, he couldn't even look me in the eye.

We limped through the rest of that summer. I slowly walled up “All Things Michael O'Connell”, and when he left, I never saw him again. I heard about him from time to time through our alumni contacts. He'd become a writer, doing a lot of work off Broadway and then eventually receiving great success writing for both TV and film. That was all I cared to know. And now that mother fucker held my career in his hands.

God damn the luck.

***

I tore through Holly's outer office, pointing Sara back into her chair when she tried to get up. I was seething mad. It didn't matter that I had nailed, and I mean freaking nailed my audition. All my anger, all my angst, all the hurt that I didn't even know was still in there was channeled into my performance and I'd been only slightly pleased when I saw Michael's reaction. He was stunned.

I was just mad.

I slammed into Holly's office, where she was on the phone. Her eyes went wide when she saw me, and I heard her say,

“Tom? I am going to have to call you back. Yes, love to Katie. Yes, OK, bye.” She hung up the phone. We stared at each other like a Mexican standoff.

Cue tumbleweeds.

“Are you kidding me?” I said quietly.

“All right now, listen. I didn't know that he—”

“Are you kidding me?” I repeated, my voice beginning to rise.

“Look Grace, settle down,” she responded, her pitch mimicking my own.

“Are. You. Kidding. Me?” I yelled, breaking down. I sank into a chair, hysterical sobs breaking over me like a tsunami. All the crap from behind that wall came out, and all over the floor of her office.

She let me cry, handing me tissues when my nose started to run. She knew me well enough to just let me wade through it. When my sobs began to sound merely pathetic rather than anguished, she began to talk.

“First, Grace, I had no idea he was the same guy. It's a common name. Second, I had no idea that you were still so upset over him. I thought you had let all that go. Third—”

I interrupted her. “I didn't know I was still so upset, but seeing him—”

“Third…you got the part,” she said quietly.

There was silence as I digested what she just said.

“What?” I asked, unsure that I had really heard her right.

“You heard me,” she said.

Holy Shit.

“What?” I asked again, a smile beginning to break through.

“You got the part,” she said, starting to get a little loud.

“Say it again,” I said, really smiling now.

“You got the mother fucking part!” she now screamed.

“Holy shit!” we both screamed together.

Sara came running. We were jumping up and down, screaming, and I had snot running all over my face. She backed out again quickly. I got the part. I got the lead in a musical. I got the lead in a musical that was being workshopped on Broadway.

On Broadway.

In New York.

In New York.

But what about…

Shut it.

I pushed it away and felt the happiness.

***

We had already started to figure everything out, and when we looked at a calendar and compared the dates, we were stunned to realize that I would have to leave for New York in ten days.

Ten days.

We began to plan. First, I was pulled out of the showcase. We called my scene partner and explained, and being a true professional, he was happy for my new job and wished me luck. Holly knew another actor that could step in for me and partner with him, no problem.

Second, I needed a place to live. Holly called an agent she knew well in New York who worked a lot with stage actors and they assured me that they could find something temporary near the theater. Until then, I would be staying at a hotel.

Third, I had a house that I hadn't even moved into yet. I had most of my things in storage and the rest at Holly's. The contractors were almost finished with everything. In fact, Chad had given me a move in date of early next week. I would move in just to move back out again.

Most of the new furniture had already been ordered and was due to begin arriving tomorrow. Chad agreed to sign for all deliveries and I would worry about placing the furniture later, as long as they were moved into the right rooms.

Finally, I had to tell the Brit.

It wasn't as if we had known each other that long, and while yes, we seemed to be getting along famously, there had been no declarations. There had been no awkward conversations or uneasy confessions. We hadn't defined anything, simply because there was nothing to define. We were at the very early stages of whatever this was, and there really was nothing more to say.

Sure Grace, it's indefinable. Stop thinking about him for ten minutes, even five minutes. You can't do it.

It was true. He had gotten inside the walls and wasn't budging. Whether or not this was too early, this was going to suck.

***

Later that night, I had finished dinner. Holly was out with a client and I had the house to myself. Jack was working on his reshoots and I had missed a call from him earlier. His voicemail was sweet. I might have listened to it three times.

“Hey, Crazy. I have no idea what time I'm going to get out of here, probably pretty late. Lane, back off…no, you don't know her…oh, piss off, will you…sorry about that. Do you want me to come by tonight? It could be after two. Let me know. I don't want to wake you. Is it crazy that I want to see you, though? Ah, Nuts Girl…right then. Speak to you later…it's me, George, by the way.” Click.

It's me, George, by the way…funny

I did want to see him, no matter what time it was. Now that I knew I had ten days, I seemed desperate to see him as much as possible. I found myself being drawn to my laptop. I still had not Googled the Brit. It was time.

I started with images…nice. He really was so pretty. A lot of the expressions in all his pictures were somewhat weird. He did have a lot of pictures with that signature smirk, that Johnny Bite Down that I found impossible to resist. And why would I, really?

Then I moved on to the fan sites…there were a lot. Then I You-Tubed his ass. I watched his interviews, I saw his paparazzi shots and I saw the videos fans had made about him. I even watched interviews from when he was in His Better Half, which was the small independent film he had shot before being cast in Time.

As I watched, I became more and more sad. He was so freaking great. He was exactly the same way in real life as he was in all those interviews. He was so adorable with the press. I could tell he was really nervous but very honest.

I had no idea he had such a fan base. I had no idea these stories were as popular as they were. He'd had a nice respectable career up until now, but once he was cast as Super Sexy Scientist Guy? He really was about to be huge.

What the hell was he doing with me? Was he with me? Did I want him to be with me?

Of course you do.

Ah, and here was Jack out on the town. Mostly he was photographed with other scruffy hipster guys, all with ball caps as well. Did I miss the memo about ball caps? Then a few pictures with a brunette…wait a minute, there were more than a few with this brunette, and on separate occasions.

I found one with a caption.

“Newly cast Time hunk Jack Hamilton and actress Marcia Williams still refusing to acknowledge their relationship.” Huh. Curious. Well, it's not as if he didn't have a past before me. I mentally pushed this tidbit away and resumed my cyber stalking.

It was late. I ran through the shower quickly, just in case Jack did come over. I put on the t-shirt that he had left behind; it was huge on me. I slipped under the covers and watched Golden Girls. I sent him a quick text before succumbing to sleep.

Hey, George by the way, yes. Definitely come over.

Gracie

***

I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew I was being cradled to a warm chest and kissed repeatedly.

“Hmm? What?” I asked stupidly, opening my eyes.

“Shhhh, go back to sleep, Grace. It's just me,” I heard my Brit say. I smiled through my sleep.

“Hey.”

“Hey, yourself,” he whispered, turning me on my side and pressing me into his nook. His hands slipped under my shirt and he ran them up and down my back. He kissed my hair and started to soothe me back to sleep.

“How did your reshoots go?” I started, but he stopped me.

“It's late. We can talk in the morning…go back to sleep,” he shushed me again. This time I listened. I drank in his scent, my own personal S'more, and drifted back to sleep.

The last thing I heard him say was my name, whispered with contentment.

***

3:17 a.m.

I woke up hearing a phone vibrate on the nightstand. It was on Jack's side. He rolled towards me, away from the offensive sound, still asleep as it vibrated even louder.

“Ugh,” I mumbled, crawling over him to turn it off. The sound was driving me crazy. I was laying across his chest, trying to get to it. In his sleep, his hands came up to my breasts and he muttered, “Fantastic.”