The Unidentified Redhead Read online

  “Touch me again,” I said, guiding his hand back to me. We stroked each other and I was still so sensitive from just moments ago that it did not take much.

  “Oh, God, Jack! That's so good!” I cried, never taking my gaze off his, even though my eyes wanted to roll back in my head.

  He growled as he watched me come again, a devilish grin on his face. I pushed him back and knelt next to him on the bed. He kept one hand between my legs and I dedicated both of my hands to him, watching his beautiful face. He was moaning, my name continuing to fall from his mouth. He was rock hard and I imagined how he would feel inside me.

  He was close and I pressed my face to his. His head was thrown back on the pillows with that look that I'd come to love all over his face. It was a thing of beauty. His eyes were fiercely shut, jaw tense, brow furrowed, mouth slightly open, moaning my name. As much as it killed me to do it, I removed his hand from me. I wanted this to be about him.

  “Open your eyes, Jack,” I said quietly. “I need to see you.”

  His lids opened and the look of wonder in his eyes stunned me silent. I felt him tense as he came for me and I grasped his face with my left hand, sweeping open kisses across his cheek as I watched him.

  His eyes never left mine. I felt him shudder and I slowed my hand, gently taking him back down.

  “Jesus. Grace,” he moaned, finally shutting his eyes, pulling my forehead down to meet his own. His breath was sweet as he continued to shudder. I wrapped my arms around him and wrapped my body around him as well. I brought him down to my breast and cuddled him to me, holding him tightly as the last few waves ran through his body.

  I loved that I could make him feel like this.

  ***

  “So, this meeting, is it a callback?” he asked over the roar of the water. I stepped out from underneath the shower head, pointing it more directly on both of us.

  “Kind of, I auditioned for them last week and rather than a traditional callback, I'm going straight through to producers,” I answered, sweeping my hair out of my face. “Shampoo, please,” I directed. He turned around in the shower stall, giving me a peek at his cute little buns. I couldn't resist a little squeeze. He flexed them for me, making me giggle.

  “Fuck, you have like four different shampoos. Which one do you want?” he asked, puzzled. “And why do you have so many?”

  “I need them for different days. Some days you need a clarifying shampoo, some days you need a color boost…today we will go with the deep conditioning, please,” I selected, pointing at the chosen shampoo.

  “Huh, I usually just collect all the free ones from hotels and use whatever I have on hand.”

  “Maybe that's why you feel the need to wear that damn ball cap all the time,” I teased.

  “Don't hate the cap,” he instructed firmly, pouring the shampoo in his hand.

  “Spin 'round,” he said, indicating that I should face away from him. I did, and I felt him begin to wash my hair.

  Well, wasn't he too cute?

  “So, producers. That's great, Sheridan. What time are you meeting them?” he asked as he continued to lather. He seemed to be having great fun making swoops and swirls with my hair and all the bubbles, and I think I caught what looked like a pompadour in the reflection of the glass door. He had used almost two palms full. I wasn't surprised at all the lather.

  “Holly said at 2:00 p.m. What do you have going on today?”

  “I have more reshoots tonight, probably pretty late,” he said. “OK, rinse,” he instructed, guiding me under the spray.

  I felt him gently work all the lather out of my hair, being careful not to get any in my eyes. He really was sweet. I returned the favor, lavishing attention on his scalp, since he was a fiend for it. Of course, he was so much taller than I was, and in order to reach his head I had to stand on tiptoe in front of him. He made sure I was steady, though, keeping my breasts firmly grasped in hand.

  “What? I'm supporting you. I don't want you to slip and fall,” he griped, when I raised an eyebrow at him.

  “Uh huh,” I answered, giving his head one final scratch. “OK, rinse,” I said.

  He closed his eyes and stood under the water, while I grabbed my shower gel— brown-sugar and coconut scented—and proceeded to wash my body. By the time he opened his eyes again, my body was covered in fragrant bubbles and my hands were slipping and sliding around on my skin, something that was not lost on Mr. Hamilton.

  “Crazy, what are you trying to do to me?” he sighed, leaning against the tiles.

  “Settle, George. I'm just taking a shower. Here…try some of this.” I flipped him the bottle.

  Maybe I arched my back just a little more than necessary when I swept my hands across my breasts.

  “Grace…” he warned, and I could see how I was affecting him. I giggled. He examined the shower gel. “Coconuts! It's coconuts!” he exclaimed.

  “What's coconuts?” I asked, turning my back to him to rinse my front.

  “That's what you smell like! You smell like coconuts and clean laundry,” he said proudly, as if he had cracked some code. He might just have been the cutest thing ever. I peered over my shoulder at him. He was grinning.

  “I smell like clean laundry?”

  “And coconuts, don't forget the coconuts,” he reminded me.

  “No, we really shouldn't forget the coconuts,” I said, turning to face him and running my hands down his torso, and even lower. His eyes widened.

  I didn't forget the coconuts.

  ***

  That afternoon I was speeding down Sepulveda, heading to my meeting. Holly had told me I would probably sing again, so I kept the top up and was doing my vocal exercises in the car.

  I was excited for this meeting. When I had originally been given the details of this new show, it intrigued me. It was a brand new musical, still in the workshop stages. They were continually rewriting the music and the lyrics, and as an actor, the chance to be the first to inhabit a role was intoxicating.

  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, wh
at 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. Yo
u 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.