Call him. Call him now.
Right, right! Of course! Call him—where the hell is my phone?
I frantically felt myself up, trying to find my phone. Dammit, I’d left it at home. Probably sitting next to my iPod.
Well then run your ass home, woman!
I smiled at the family I’d been watching. They must have wondered about the strange lady in the park having an argument with herself. But hell, it was New York.
I ran like my ass was on fire. I ran out of the park and across town, my heart pounding in my ears. I must have looked like a lunatic. I was crying and smiling at the same time. The image of Harry running to find Sally on New Year’s Eve flashed through my head. He wanted to tell her how much he loved her, and he didn’t want to wait another second. I could relate.
I wanted my Jack. I wanted my family. I wanted my home. I just had to think of the right things to say to convince him I would never, ever, ever walk away from him again.
I made it to my building, yelled a quick hi to Lou as I sprinted past, and hit the elevator. It took what felt like ten hours, during which I tried to compose what I’d say when I called him. I also spent most of the time bent over at the waist, trying to catch my breath after running so fast and furiously.
When the door finally pinged open, I fell out into the hallway. Sweaty yet exhilarated, I picked myself off the floor and raced toward my door, anxious to get to my phone. I barreled through the door and ran through the apartment, frantically searching for my phone. I finally found it where I had left it, on the stack of mail in the kitchen. As I grabbed the phone, I slowed myself down just enough to take a breath and think again about what I was going to say. I couldn’t just blurt it out over the phone, could I?
As I composed myself, I flipped idly through the mail, which included quite a stack of gossip magazines. They remained my guilty pleasure.
OK, you’ve breathed enough. Now get him on the phone and do whatever you need to do.
Yeah.
Gripping my phone for courage, I began to dial when my gaze fell on the magazine on top, which featured a familiar face. It was Jack, falling out of a cab with a blonde draped on his arm. He was clearly drunk, and she was clearly victorious in the way she held on to him. He seemed to be turning his face from the camera, while she posed triumphantly. The caption?
WHERE’S THE REDHEAD?
Chapter 16
I stared at the magazine, unable to comprehend what I was seeing. Was he dating this blonde? Were they sleeping together? Did I even have the right to be asking these questions?
Whether or not I did, my mind whirled in a thousand directions, my eyes riveted to the picture. When I finally worked up the nerve, I read the article inside.
After the premiere of
Time
in Los Angeles, Jack Hamilton went on world tour, stopping at
Time
’s opening in his hometown of London, quickly followed by the premiere in Paris. He just recently popped back up on the scene in L.A. and was seen at local nightclubs every night last week. Our cameras caught him exiting a taxi outside the Chateau Marmont hotel in Hollywood with a stunning blonde. When asked where his redhead was—older woman and rumored girlfriend Grace Sheridan—Jack’s words were mumbled and undecipherable. He stumbled into the hotel and was not seen again until the following morning, when he beat a hasty retreat into the Hills. Does this mean Jack is back on the market?
Stunning blonde. Hmpf. And speaking of not stunning, the usually beauteous Jack looked like crap. He was always such a polished pro in public. What the hell was going on?
Maybe he misses you.
More like maybe his fame is going to his head. He seems to have plenty of company.
I read the article three more times before I finally picked up the phone again. I dreaded making this call.
“Hi,” a voice answered.
“Is it true?” I asked, my lower lip beginning to tremble.
“You saw the article?”
“I did. Is it true?” I heard Holly sigh.
“Grace, I love you, but I have a PR nightmare on my hands here, and I have to tell you, you gave up your rights to ask questions about Jack when you broke it off,” she snapped.
“I know, I know. But you have to tell me!” I begged, my lower lip quivering as tears ran rampant down my face.
“I don’t know, Grace. He’s been so hard to get a hold of lately. After Paris, he just kind of checked out. No more press, no more interviews, and he stopped answering my calls. I don’t know what’s going on,” she admitted, her tone softening.
“Oh, Holly. I messed up. I messed up big time,” I wailed.
“Tell me something I don’t know, fruitcake,” she said, and I laughed a little in spite of myself.
She put her PR nightmare on hold, and we spent a long time on the phone. I told her what had happened between me and Michael, and she wasn’t all that surprised. Despite my determination mere minutes ago, we agreed that perhaps now was not the best time to reach out to Jack. I needed to concentrate on the upcoming show. She promised to come out for the opening, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t need some girl time. I needed to focus one-hundred-percent on the show and turn my attention back to my career. I’d been so focused on my personal life—and on Jack’s career—that I’d mostly neglected to realize how wonderfully my own work was going at the moment. Michael had invited a few reporters in to watch rehearsal a few days ago, and the early feedback was good—quite good. Particularly for the leading lady.
“Just hold on, m’dear, and Holly will be there soon,” she said. “We’ll toast your success, have a few cocktails, and, if necessary, I’ll sleep with you,” she quipped, once again making me laugh.
“Well, if there’s anyone who needs to get a little, it’s you. That’s for sure. How long has it been anyway?” I asked.
“Hey, Grace, I need to scoot. Call me later if you need to, okay?”
“Okay. Will do, asshead.”
“Things will work out exactly as they should, I promise,” she said.
“I trust you,” I said, then hung up the phone.
I looked at the magazine once more, then threw it in the trash. I would figure this out, but looking at those pictures was not going to help me.
***
In the final days of rehearsal, I threw myself into my work. It was my saving grace. I found strength in the connection I shared with Mabel, and I spent more time at the theater than ever. After rehearsal sometimes I would steal onto the stage, when the crew had left and it was almost deserted. Standing center, with an empty house, I felt the energy flow through me. In this space I felt more at home than anywhere else on earth. How privileged I was to have a shot at this life, and I was taking full advantage of it. I was proud of myself and what I’d accomplished, and whether the show was picked up or not almost didn’t matter.
Pffft…
Well, yes, of course I wanted the show to do well. Oh hell, I wanted to see my name in lights. I wasn’t too proud to admit it. I could own that, but I was also thrilled to be involved in this industry in any way. Even if I couldn’t be on a stage, or in front of a camera, I now knew I’d need to look into a new career path that kept me in this industry, as this was clearly where I was meant to be.