“Uh-huh,” she said.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“Nothing. Just saying ‘uh-huh’,” she said, the smile back in her voice.
“Holly, you never say anything without meaning something. Now give it up, bitch.”
“It’s nothing. I’m just glad you guys are friends again. It isn’t weird at all? No old chemistry knocking around, nothing coming up between you two?” she asked.
“No, none at all. Thanks for asking, though, you scandal whore.” I laughed, hoping to change the subject quickly. There was nothing going on. However, while Michael and I had spent plenty of time reminiscing, we hadn’t addressed the feelings we’d had for each other back then, or any impact they might have on the present. I thought briefly of his eyes locked on mine during the eggroll standoff, but I brushed this aside.
“So when are you coming to visit, you dumb bitch?” I segued smoothly.
“Nice talk. I’m trying to get out there before Thanksgiving. And by the way, where are you planning on spending the holiday? Can you get back here, or will you still be in rehearsal?”
“I don’t know, but my guess is I’ll be here. Hey, I’ll get to see the parade up close and personal. That’ll be kind of cool!” I said. I hadn’t really thought about the upcoming holidays.
“Maybe I’ll wait and come out then. Can’t have my best friend alone on Turkey Day,” she said, laughing.
“Aw, that’s sweet, babe. You know there’s no one I’d rather share yams with than your bad-ass self.” I chuckled.
“So when’s he getting in?” she asked.
I ignored the obvious double entendre. “Around five-ish. I have to be here all day for rehearsal, but that’s good. It’s keeping my mind off things. I’m so freaking excited! I really didn’t expect to miss him as much as I do.”
I sighed, leaning back on the couch again and sipping my coffee. It was still early—not even lunch yet, and I knew this day would positively drag.
Six hours until boom-boom…
“I knew you’d miss him this much, and I have to tell you, he’s like a little lost puppy without you,” she said.
“Really? Why do you say that?” I asked, wincing a little at the image.
“I can just tell how much he misses you. He’s doing a ton of promotion, and he’s starting to really get recognized, which is a little weird for him. I know he’s going out with his friends at night a lot, but I still think he’d rather be with you, watching your God-awful Golden Girls,” she said, groaning in distaste.
“Yeah, I’m sure he’d rather be snuggled up watching Bea Arthur than out on the town,” I sniped.
“Grace, you’re an idiot. The boy is in love. Let him miss you,” she said.
I chewed my lip thoughtfully. “I know he misses me. I miss him too. A lot,” I muttered.
Just then Michael came into the studio with the musical director.
“Hey, Holly, I gotta go. I’ll call you later this weekend,” I said, rolling off the couch and walking over to the piano.
“Don’t you dare call my ass when you should be fucking the shit out of your hot British nasty! I love you, now goodbye,” she said, and hung up.
I smiled as I clicked off the phone.
“Was that Holly?” Michael asked, grinning down at me.
“Yep, she was harassing me.” I laughed as we began to page through sheet music.
“About this weekend?” he asked, his smile tightening.
“Yeah, she’s always trying to give me advice. You know how she is,” I said, nodding to the accompanist to begin.
We worked together on the song, finding the emotional beats and drawing out the subtext. Once we finished, Michael packed up to leave just as Leslie came in from the studio next door.
“So I heard your boyfriend is coming in this weekend. Are you stoked?” she asked, bounding into the room and curling up on the couch next to me.
“He is coming in. How did you know that?” I asked.
“Michael told me,” she said, digging in her bag and pulling out a few magazines.
“What are all these?” I asked as she spread them out on the couch.
“My favorite crush, Jack Hamilton, is supposed to be in these magazines. I thought we could look through them and begin a little shrine for our dressing room!” she screeched, bouncing like a schoolgirl.
I was beginning to wonder if I should tell her about me and Jack. I didn’t mean to keep it a secret so long, but I was following Holly’s directive that we keep our relationship private—out of the newspapers and off the internet—even though I knew Jack was against it. He trusted Holly implicitly, though, and he knew we were only looking out for his career. It wasn’t that it was a secret, we just weren’t public. And me on another coast solved a lot of problems with the press, especially now that Jack was doing so many interviews.
Holly had taught him the phrase, “I’m not dating anyone right now,” and he was sticking to it in the interviews. If those few pictures they got of us in L.A. just stayed on the back burner, we’d be okay. Still, I knew Leslie would eventually find out, and I didn’t want her to think I was keeping things from her.
“Wow…he is so hot,” she sighed, finding the first picture.
It was in a teenybopper magazine, but my Brit still looked fine. I allowed myself a quick glance, which of course made my heart do a little double-time, and then I looked at her.
“Hey, Leslie?” I started.
“I mean, my God, he’s on fire, that boy! I might need to concentrate on booking more jobs in L.A. I wonder if he’s single?” she continued, flipping through the pages of the next magazine.
“So, listen, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. My boyfriend, the one that lives in L.A.?” I started again, only to be interrupted by another squeal.
“Jesus! Look at those eyes! I mean, they just scream sex, don’t they?” She tore out another picture and added it to the pile.
“Yes, yes, they do. Anyway, like I was saying…,” I started yet again, determined to get through it this time.
“Holy shit, Jack Fucking Hamilton,” she said softly. I heard her rip another picture.
“Jesus, Leslie, enough already! I’m trying to tell you something about my boyfriend!” I shouted. I looked at her sitting there with a ripped picture in her hand. She looked dazed. It really was a pretty hot picture.
“What about your boyfriend?” I heard a sexy voice behind me, with a distinctly British accent. My eyes grew wide as I slowly turned, now realizing what Leslie meant.
Holy shit, Jack Fucking Hamilton.
He stood in the doorway of the studio, leaning against the door frame. He had a bag over his shoulder. His eyes were bloodshot, clothes rumpled, and his hair needed its own zip code. He smiled at me, and I was struck stupid by the sight of him.
“You were saying something about your boyfriend, I think?” he asked again. His eyes twinkled, the green getting dangerously dark. Then he bit down on that damn lip.
I was off the couch and across the room in mere seconds, and I jumped at him. He caught me in midair, dropping his bag, and the force of me carried us both out into the hallway. I pressed myself into him, wrapping my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck. He stumbled backward, laughing at my exuberant welcome, and his back hit the wall.
I didn’t see the other cast members in the hall. I didn’t see the ballet students in their tutus on the way to a dress rehearsal on the main stage. I didn’t see Leslie, still dumbfounded on the couch, mouth hanging open, surrounded by pictures of my very own Sweet Nuts. I didn’t see Michael standing at the end of the hallway, watching.
I saw nothing but the front of Jack’s T-shirt as I clung tightly to him, the colors beginning to swim as I blinked back tears, sudden and hot. I smelled nothing but the scent of warm pipe tobacco, chimney smoke, chocolate, and Hamilton. I felt nothing but his strong arms enveloping me and his hands running up and down my back, soothing my shaking body. I heard nothing but his quiet laughter, and then his perfect voice whispered, “Aw, Gracie, I missed you too.”