The Redhead Plays Her Hand Read online

  And in that moment, I realized how out of control everything had become. Big, small, curvy, or bony, beauty was beauty. I was healthy. I was exactly the size I was supposed to be, and that was it.

  The most wonderful thing about the article? There was no mention of Jack and whether we were dating. It was solely about me, my show, and my abilities as an actress—for once not that man I might be sleeping with.

  The man I was still very much worried about. But also the man who left last night, left me with a patio full of glass rather than stay and fight with me about what was really going on with him. I lay back in bed, biting my nails as our conversation played back over for the thousandth time. My brain was pudding at this point. I had analyzed it forward and backward and spent just as much time cursing his name for leaving as I did contemplating how I could have pushed him so far that I let him leave.

  Drugs. Dammit, he was turning into a Hollywood cliché. My experience with drugs was limited. Holly and I had partied in college plenty, but only with pot. And we never bought it. There were always guys who would share. In fact, the first time I ever smoked pot was with Holly and Michael, on the floor of his sister’s living room. Cypress Hill, a rose-colored bong, and about eighteen boxes of Snackwell’s later, I had successfully inhaled.

  But that was it for me. Never did anything else. I’m sure harder drugs were around, but I was never aware of it—certainly not clued in enough to recognize it in anyone else. However, I was aware enough to know that occasional use didn’t lead automatically to a pretty place in Malibu with a curfew and required wristbands for visitors.

  So what had Jack been on yesterday? And was it the first time?

  Hi, naive? I think someone’s on the phone . . . something about a bridge for sale?

  This explained a lot. But I was more concerned that there was a side to Jack I had no clue about, and no clue how to help.

  The phone rang as I was locked inside my own After School Special. “He’s taking drugs, Holly,” I said as my greeting.

  “Did I call a hotline?”

  I smiled in spite of myself. “Jack. He’s taking drugs.”

  She swore into the phone. “I’m on my way over there. I’m gonna kick his ass.”

  “You’ll have to drive a little farther than Laurel Canyon. He left for the desert last night.” I sighed.

  “What? After we left?”

  “About fifteen minutes after you left, yes. The fucking Mabel theme song was playing during our Come to Jesus meeting.”

  “Ah, shit. I’m on my way. How many bagels do you want?”

  “No bagels, but I wouldn’t say no to egg rolls later.”

  “Done. And can we also talk about how fucking huge your show was last night?”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you too, fruitcake. I’m on my way.”

  I got out of bed, made it, and headed for the shower. By the time Holly arrived, I had on a dress, had curled my hair, and had my lips glossed. In the past, egg rolls would have been the beginning of a spiral, the way to cope with anything tough that came my way. Egg rolls would have morphed into pans of fried noodles, fried wontons, fried anything. Couple that with my couch, a sloppy ponytail that hadn’t seen shampoo in days, and a marathon of My So-Called Life, and I could turn any crisis into an excuse to cocoon.

  Drugs? Pfft. Egg rolls were my gateway. But now I could have my egg rolls with a side of yoga and solve my problems with a clear head. And a hit TV show . . .

  Holly stayed for the better part of the afternoon, during which I told her everything that happened the night before. She kicked herself as well. Working in Hollywood as long as she had, she was convinced she should have seen this coming. It was so ridiculously clear, it was like missing the forest for the cocaine. Addict? Probably not. That couldn’t have gotten past me for too long. But the partying had certainly progressed. But while we, of course, spent time talking about the Brit, we also talked about the redhead.

  We planned another round of interviews—lots of women’s magazines had contacted Holly about doing photo shoots and feature stories on me, something that boggled my mind but pleased me to no end. I’d not planned this, couldn’t have planned this, but I wasn’t going to say no to a dialogue that was so important and needed to happen. So photo shoot? Hells yes.

  I was still riding high, enjoying this ray of sunshine when I finally heard from the person I’d been waiting to hear from. But no call. I got a text.

  Saw the headlines today, looks like you’re a hit.

  Now, there was nothing mean-spirited about this text, not at all. And there was nothing about it that should have antagonized me so. But when I read it, it pissed me off.

  It would appear so, yes.

  I pressed SEND, then waited to see his response. I’m sure this was his way of testing the waters, seeing what kind of a mood I was in after leaving me the night before. The waters were decidedly cool. He responded right away.

  Is this how it’s going to be now?

  Good question. I wondered if I was right to push him this way. There was no right answer here. I just knew how I felt, and how I felt was sad but also a little betrayed. We’d come so far this past year, shared so much, and gone through it all together. Did I really miss all those signs?

  The truth was no. I saw them all and talked to him about everything I was worried about. But should I have pushed harder? Sooner? I wanted to help him. Christ, I wanted to help him. But he not only didn’t want my help, he didn’t even want to be around me right now. Aaaand back to pissed.

  It’s this way because you wanted it this way, Jack. You left. So go, live it up, go bananas. But like I told you last night, I’m not gonna watch.

  He didn’t respond. And I didn’t text him again. And even though no one ever plans it, that was the beginning of the end.

  seventeen

  ENT

  On a break from shooting Soldier Boy, Jack Hamilton and company spilled into the lobby of the Palms Casino Resort in Las Vegas late Friday night after reportedly losing more than $50,000 at the poker tables. Hamilton was in good spirits, however, something you’d think losing all that money would dampen. But he seemed to be flying high, disappearing into a black Suburban with several other actors from the set, including Adam Kasen. Kasen, who has been a fixture on the Hollywood party scene for a few years now, has been inseparable from his castmate Hamilton since the two met in preproduction. Hamilton stopped to sign a few autographs, laughing and chatting with fans, although he beat a hasty retreat when our reporter asked him about the latest details of his never-confirmed and often-denied relationship with actress Grace Sheridan. Just before Kasen got into the car, our reporter asked him the same question, to which he replied, “Grace who?”

  Grace who indeed, if the number of ladies who followed Kasen into the car have anything to say about it.

  TVRatings.com

  Mabel’s Unstable?, written and created by Michael O’Connell, directed by David Lancaster, and starring the actress everyone is talking about these days, Grace Sheridan, premiered recently to rave reviews and huge ratings! The preshow gossip focused on who was dating who and which actress wasn’t getting along with her director, but Mabel’s Unstable? has proved to everyone that sex + singing + Beverly Hills is a mix that can’t miss. Who knew? Well, Venue knew, and the cable channel is reportedly in talks with the creative team behind Mabel’s Unstable? to order a full season.

  Hamiltoned.com

  Thanks to all of you who have been out watching for our guy, we can now report that yes, it’s true. Jack Hamilton was thrown out of Chuckles comedy club by security when he became disruptive to the comedians onstage. We’d heard reports from several eyewitnesses, but the incident was finally confirmed this morning by a representative from the club. Jack! Shame on you.

  Entertainment Tonight

  Grace Sheridan is mad as hell, and she’s not gonna take it anymore! When pictures appeared of the actress in a recent photo spread for Southern California S
tyle, a fashion magazine about exactly that, the curvy actress was decidedly uncurvy, something that was immediately noticeable. Sheridan has been very vocal about her past struggles with her weight and the difficulties she had losing a few pounds for her role on Mabel’s Unstable? In fact, it was these very struggles that brought attention to her beyond her alleged relationship with Jack Hamilton. When the magazine was published, her manager Holly Newman responded to criticism that her pictures were more than retouched. “Like any actress, Grace understands that with photo shoots comes retouching, but not reconstruction. Grace is proud of her body, she’s worked hard for it, and she has asked the magazine to publish the photos as they were taken. For God’s sake, people, she’s got a butt. Get over it.”

  We at ET have obtained the original photos, and you can see that extensive work was done to reduce the size of not only her hips but also her thighs, arms, and stomach. Once it was clear that the photos had been doctored, a swell of support, which started online, flooded the office of Southern California Style with letters, e-mails, and phone calls speaking out in favor of Sheridan. Whether the magazine will reprint the pictures is not clear, but what is clear is that this actress has kick-started a conversation that will continue.

  JackedOff.com

  Don’t you worry, Jacky boy. We’ve got your back. How dare they throw him out of a club? Don’t they know that having someone as famous and fabulous as Jack Hamilton in their stupid comedy club is the best thing that could happen to them??

  And anyone who thinks that cow Grace Sheridon’t will be around this time next year is full of it! They were never dating, people. Come on! She used him for some press, and now she’s making sure its all about her. Please! She sucks, her show sucks, her fans suck, and the only thing good we can say about her is that . . . actually we can’t say anything good about her. We’re just glad our boy has decided to stay in Vegas awhile longer. No one can pretend they’re dating anymore if they’re not even in the same city. We love you, Jack!

  CurvyGirlGuide.com

  We love Grace Sheridan! Her new show Mabel’s Unstable? debuted a few weeks ago, and she is our new guilty pleasure. We love her for her voice; for her character, Mabel; for her curves; and for her willingness to speak up when it comes to what’s beautiful. Recently photographed in lingerie for an upcoming spread in People, Grace gave us at CGG a sneak peek at her in her barelytheres, and she’s gorgeous!

  While she seemed cool before, her new stance of refusing any and all retouching on her photos is the coolest thing ever! Making sure they’ll be printed with every single curve and dimple, she is a real woman who real women can identify with. It’s actually ridiculous that this conversation is centered around someone that is not plus-size, for the love of all that is holy, but we’re just glad it’s happening. She knows which side her bread is buttered on. We’re on your side, Grace, because we know you’re on ours!

  CelebTracker.com

  Shooting wrapped on the film Soldier Boy starring Jack Hamilton this week after an extended location shoot that went weeks beyond the initial schedule. Stories from the set have reported more recent trouble with the cast showing up late to work, not having lines memorized, and arguing with the crew. What remains to be seen is whether the film itself will have as large of a draw as the shooting did.

  Fans of the actors, in large part fans of Jack Hamilton, showed up in droves when filming locations were leaked to the press. Barricades and fleets of black Suburbans were required to shuttle the cast back and forth, and security was out in full force as fans jostled to get a glimpse of their favorite Sexy Scientist Guy. Although in the past Hamilton has usually been willing to pose for pictures and sign autographs, reports from those working inside the closed set say that having the fans around this time really seemed to cause a problem. He’s reported to have said they were breaking his concentration, and once even went as far as to demand that the fans be removed from a location before he would come out of his trailer. But trouble on set or not, the film has wrapped, and the studio is hoping for a quick turnaround and release, likely to capitalize on the continued success and interest in Jack Hamilton and the renewed interest in Adam Kasen, former golden boy and confirmed Hollywood bad boy.

  TMZ

  Redhead out on the town, but where’s her Scientist Guy? Last night our photographers caught up with Grace Sheridan as she left a restaurant in West Hollywood. Reports inside said she met with her manager, Holly Newman, and the writer for her hit show, Mabel’s Unstable?, Michael O’Connell, before leaving alone. She didn’t answer any questions, but when asked about her are-they-or-aren’t-they boyfriend, Jack Hamilton, she was visibly upset. Reports that he has plans to stay in the Nevada desert indefinitely, even though filming has ended on his new movie, Soldier Boy, certainly has set tongues wagging about the future for this couple, the worst-kept secret in Tinseltown. With Sheridan’s new solo success and her outspoken views on beauty standards, does she need the Scientist Guy?

  The same night Sheridan dined with friends in Los Angeles, Hamilton was spotted in the VIP section of Lush, which seems to have become the actor’s nightly habit. Seen out almost every night on the town, the formerly private actor seems hell-bent on embracing the Hollywood culture of live fast and hard.

  Are they or aren’t they? Wasn’t that the question everyone wanted the answer to, including yours truly.

  I sat back in my seat, closed out of the window on my phone, and promised once more to never ever, ever, ever google myself again. Or Jack. Neither. Both. Never. I pulled out of the parking garage on Wilshire after a grueling session with Megan, looking everywhere for tan sedans. All clear. Never googling again.

  Who are you kidding?

  Okay, I won’t until tomorrow.

  Again, who are you kidding?

  I knew I would do it again later today, so this was just a little lie I told myself—a lie that made it easier to rationalize inside where the crazy hides that I somehow now had a life where I could google myself. Myself!

  Flights of fancy aside, let’s go back to the question on deck.

  Are they or aren’t they?

  Sadly, all evidence would point to aren’t they.

  Since the night Jack left for the desert we had not spoken, something that I could scarcely believe. But that’s how it happens. A day becomes two, two becomes five, a freaking week goes by, then two? And then the ludicrous becomes real. At that point, it’s just semantics. Who’s gonna be the one to reach out? Who’s gonna be the bigger person or the weakest weenie? Apparently, we were both semantic.

  If someone had told me six months ago that Jack and I would break up without even a phone call, I’d have said no way. Never happen. Not to us. But were we broken up? See, that’s the thing of it. When shit goes bad, sometimes you can get bogged down in it, wrap yourself in it, but still not know. I’d analyzed the he saids and the she should haves, but in the end, I still didn’t know. But if I stepped back from it, then yes, we were probably broken up.

  I winced even as I thought it, so I rolled down the windows and breathed deep, getting a little hit of smog to clear my head.

  A boy and a girl meet, fall in love, and hide their romance because of boy’s fan club. Girl breaks his heart because she’s an idiot. Boy and girl get back together. Boy and girl have sex, have sex, have more of the sex. Girl gets TV show; boy drinks. Girl gets famous over sixteen pounds. Boy drinks more; girl lets boy leave one night knowing this can’t possibly be the end. Girl sweeps up glass. Boy doesn’t come back.

  And in the interim, girl kicks ass. Is girl enjoying it? She’s trying to.

  The show was a hit. It continued to gain momentum, and by the middle of the shortened summer season, a full season had been ordered. Same writer. Same cast. New director. Hee-hee.

  We went into production on the new season almost immediately, and I threw myself into the work—creating, owning, listening, and responding. Michael’s writing had hit new strides, taking Mabel and the entire cast into places as a
n actress I was terrified of, which made it all the more exhilarating when I did go there and didn’t shy away.

  Professionally, I was killing it. Personally, I was a ghost town.

  Jack had texted me—twice, in fact, since the first time. First to tell me congratulations on the show getting picked up, that he hadn’t missed an episode, and that he was proud of me. The second time, weeks later, he texted me a picture of a television. On the screen? The Golden Girls.

  I responded both times, but he never texted back. What could I glean from these texts? He was keeping tabs on what I was up to and that he was as happy as I was about the Golden Gs being back on TV Land.

  He called one night too, late. After 3:00 a.m. When I answered, he said nothing. But I could hear him breathing.

  “Jack? Hey, you there?”

  Breathing.

  “Jack, you okay?”

  Heavy breathing.

  “Seriously? That’s what you called me for?”

  Groan.

  Yeah, I may have let him finish. I mean, come on. And I did only a few things on my end, just a few. But we never spoke. He never said a word. I cried afterward.

  So are we or aren’t we? Seriously, someone please clue me in.

  I kept tabs on him as much as I could through the Google stalking and the little bits Holly knew. He’d finally responded to her, signed on to do the next Time movie, and then went back to not answering his phone when she called. She eventually got him on the line, told him she wasn’t going to work with him this way and that if he wanted another manager he could find one. He relented but let her know in no uncertain terms that he was on a break until the Time sequel started shooting this fall. He didn’t want to do any interviews, he wasn’t doing any TV appearances, and he essentially wanted to be left alone until he had to do promotion for Soldier Boy, to which he’d already agreed to do.