Alice Clayton - The Redhead Plays Her Hand

“Yes. God, yes. You would not believe the day I had. I hate this town! Remind me never to work with anyone who used to be on the CW ever again,” she cried.

I busied myself making dirty martinis. Holly pulled herself onto the counter, kicked off her heels, and put her feet in Michael’s lap, pointing at them.

“Rub. And you, Buzzy, get behind me. Work on these shoulders,” she instructed, gesturing Jack over. With a grin he obliged, and Michael’s surprised face gave over to sheepish as he began working on Holly’s heels. Stacked like a porn star, Holly’s natural good looks tended to make all men a little gooey around her, present company included. I handed her the cocktail, grimacing as she sucked it back quickly, presenting me with an empty glass.

“Seriously, fruitcake, it was a dilly of a day. I’m gonna need a double. And harder, please, Michael.” She moaned as he hit a spot in the middle of her instep. I laughed as she began to tell us about her day, and I made her another cocktail. I caught Jack’s eye over Holly’s shoulder, and he winked at me.

Life was good.

An impromptu dinner party ensued, and after dinner was over, we all ended up on the cushiony chairs in the backyard. Winter in Los Angeles was chilly at nighttime, at least enough that the cashmere throws I brought out were necessary. Snuggled into a large love seat, Jack played with my hair as we laughed and chatted with our friends. Strings of white lights dotted the fig and plum trees out back, and the potted lemon trees that framed the patio threw off their fragrance into the night. I leaned into Jack’s warmth, his breath heady and thick with brandy as he and Holly went back and forth about his shooting schedule. He’d be leaving in a few weeks, but this was different from when we’d been apart in the past. This time I got to stay here, in my home that I’d worked so hard on and barely gotten to enjoy before heading off to New York. Now I was able to work where I lived, and I relished my surroundings.

I had created a space for myself exactly the way I wanted. Built into the hillsides of Los Angeles there were certainly bigger and grander homes, but my Laurel Canyon bungalow was exactly what I wanted. And having Jack move into it with me? Well, that made it all the more homey.

As Holly and Jack got louder and louder, trying to hammer down some interview she had planned for him, I leaned across to Michael.

“You still looking to rent a new place?”

“Yep, the corporate housing has been fine, but now that I’m setting down some roots I think I want something a bit more distinct. This agent I have, though, is showing me all these rentals on Wilshire—in the corridor, all those high-rises. They’re great, but I just left New York. I’d like something a little closer to the ground.”

“I can see that. Roots, hmm . . . Do you want to buy? Great time to buy,” I prodded.

“Not quite that rooty. I still want to rent. I want rental roots,” he answered, causing Holly to stop midstream in her conversation with Jack.

“I’ve got a great rental agent. I’ll have her send over some listings. You want a house? Pool? Standard L.A. bachelor pad?”

“House, yes. Pool, perhaps. Bachelor pad, no. No neon.” He grinned.

“I can totally find you that. I’ll go with you to look at houses next week if you want,” she offered, sipping at her brandy.

“That’d be great. You sure you have time?”

I snuggled closer to Jack.

“Of course. I can take an afternoon off. The business will still be there. And speaking of business, Jack, we need to talk about—”

“Holly, don’t you ever quit? Enough for tonight, okay?” Jack snapped, surprising us all. We turned to look at him as he ran his hands through his nonexistent hair. He sighed, then gulped the rest of his brandy. With heavy eyes, he looked at Holly.

“Sorry. I think I’m just tired,” he muttered, eyes falling back down to his glass.

“No worries, Jack. We can talk tomorrow. Call me in the morning?” she asked, pushing herself out of her chair with a quick glance at me.

I shrugged my shoulders and stood as well. “You’re leaving?”

“I should get going—early meeting tomorrow with some kid with three names. When did everyone decide to name their children with such long names? If I see one more Noah Jonathan Blahblah I will lose my mind. Truly,” she exclaimed, pulling Michael out of his chair. “Come on, you can walk me to my car.”

“Okay, sure, yeah, of course. Um . . . ’night, Grace! See you later, Jack,” Michael called back over his shoulder as they made their way into the house.

“’Night,” Jack said, wrapping the blanket more firmly around himself. I waved at the two of them, then turned to stand in front of him.

“You okay?” I asked, taking his empty glass and setting it down on the table. I was pulled quickly into his lap, his strong arms wrapping around me suddenly and completely. I was pressed against him, his body caging me in, close to him.

“Sometimes, I swear, she just doesn’t know when to quit!” he exclaimed, sighing into my neck as he clutched me closer.

“She’s just doing her job, Sweet Nuts. Don’t take it personally.” I snuggled further into his arms.

“How can I not take it personally? It’s my life she’s managing, not just my career. I just— Fucking hell, I don’t know.”

“Hey, hey. I know, shush,” I soothed, scratching his scalp and feeling him relax into me. His brandy breath was heavy around us, and I was reminded once again of how young he truly was. No one could possibly have prepared him for the life and all its trimmings that had been thrust upon him when he took his defining role. He held up remarkably well, all things considered.

We quietly rocked for a moment, the canyon still and quiet around us.

“Hey, did I tell you the good news?”

“What’s that, Crazy?” he asked, his lips tickling now at the edge of my shirt. Apparently he had rallied.

“I get my own trailer! Can you believe that?”

“Of course you get your own trailer. You’re the star of the show, love,” he reminded me.

That still did not seem real to me.

“Listen, it’s a pretty big deal. Not all of us are big film stars,” I reminded him, settling more firmly on his lap.

“Now when you say big, what exactly were you referring to?” he asked, gently but firmly thrusting up against me.

“Oh, please.” I laughed as he buried his face into my neck, blowing brandy-scented raspberries.

“I’m proud of you,” he whispered, his hands now roaming freely across my back, familiar yet still very much capable of making me shiver. “Are you cold?”

“No, George, I’m all kinds of warm,” I breathed into his ear, shivering once more as he literally swept me off my feet and inside to our bed.

S o tonight, I’m heading to this club and I thought—” he said the following morning.

At least I think that’s what he said. I was under the shower spray, and someone had his hands all over my breasts. Keeping me steady, of course, just for balance.

“You’re going out again tonight?” I spluttered.

“Again? I was home last night,” he answered, leaning underneath his own showerhead. The shower he had installed boasted his and hers nozzles. Although more often than not we ended up on one side or the other.

“True, but you were out almost every night last week.”

“Is this where you turn into a nagging girlfriend?” He winked, letting the water stream off his face and down onto his chest and tummy, making the happy trail stand out even more. It sure made me happy.

“I think so. Hang on, let me put on my nag face,” I said sternly, frowning in an exaggerated way. “Honey, don’t you think you should stay home and clean out the gutters?” I whined, putting my hands on my hips and stomping my foot. An action that would have been more forceful had I not slipped as I did it. He caught me, laughing as I struggled to stay upright. He gave me a light smack on the bottom as he put me back on my feet.