“Gracie, I don’t know how you’re not the size of a bus, the way you eat. I love it! Too many girls just eat lettuce and drink bottled water. It’s nice to be with a real woman.” He smoothed his hands along my skin under the water, along my stomach and hips, beginning to work his way toward my thighs and specifically what was between my thighs.
I stopped cold, the spoon clenched between my teeth. “What?” I asked, my breath stuck in my throat.
“You heard me. It’s amazing that as much as you eat, you’re not a little butterball—not that you couldn’t stand to gain a little weight. I bet your tits would be even more fabulous . . .” He trailed off, kissing the back of my neck.
He must have felt how tense I was, because he stopped. “Grace? What is it?” he asked, trying to turn me around.
I removed the spoon from my mouth and set the ice cream down, then I faced him. “I look the way I do because I work my ass off. Why do you think I’m constantly going for a run, or going to the gym, or running off to another yoga class? You think it’s easy to look like this? I have to stay ahead of everything I eat. Don’t think for a second that I won’t be at the gym as soon as you head back to L.A.,” I said, my voice getting low again. I pulled myself out of the tub and shrugged into a robe, bubbles everywhere.
“Where are you going? What the hell just happened?” he asked, his eyes wide at my current state of crazy.
I went into the other room and grabbed my wallet, then came back into the bathroom, where he was looking dazed. I took a picture out and handed it to him. I watched as his eyes grew wide. He looked up at me, then back to the picture, then at me again. His eyes grew thoughtful, then sad.
“Grace,” he said quietly, handing me back the picture.
I took it from him, wiping the bubbles off the edges before allowing myself to look at it. It was a picture of me from two years ago. Once I’d started making plans to lose weight, my trainer had taken a picture of me to keep with me in case I ever needed additional inspiration. It was me at my heaviest, and while you could tell it was me, there was a sadness in this picture that always made me refocus when I wanted to skip that early yoga class or get overly indulgent with my desserts. I never wanted to go back to that girl again, but there were days I felt she’d never left.
“So you see, the butterball comments hit a little close to home,” I said, shoving the picture in my wallet. I went to put it back in the other room, and when I returned to the bathroom, he was wrapping a towel around his waist.
He sighed heavily. “Grace, this weekend seems to be nothing but miscommunications for both of us. I didn’t say that to make you feel bad. How was I supposed to know you had a . . . um . . . well . . . a . . .” He stammered, searching for the right words.
“A weight problem? A giant ass? Big ol’ fatty thighs? You’re right; you didn’t know. Now you do. Will I always look like this? I hope so—at least for another few years, until gravity starts to take hold and I have to start getting Botox and everything else women have to do nowadays to stay young and beautiful,” I said, feeling myself tense.
“You will never need Botox,” he scoffed.
“Ha! You want me all frowny and haggard-looking? And what are you going to do when my precious boobs start to droop, huh? When you have rock-in-the-sock to hold on to every night—how sexy will that be?”
“Rock-in-the-what? Crazy, you are crazy,” he soothed, crossing to me and pulling on my robe ties when I tried to walk away.
I looked at him for a moment, then hugged him fiercely. “Why the hell do you love me so much? Seriously, I am fucked up and nuts,” I said into his chest, still wet from the bath.
I felt him chuckle. “You think I don’t know you’re nuts? Don’t fool yourself. And like I’ve been telling you, I like nuts girls,” he said, kissing the top of my head.
“Well, you sure can pick ’em, if that’s what you’re in to.” I chuckled too. I couldn’t believe we’d almost had another argument over something so silly.
Except it wasn’t silly. It was part of my past, and it was something I thought about daily: when I tried to skip a run, when I thought about having an extra late-night snack. I was always a bag of Chex Mix away from a full-on food free-for-all, and even though Jack helped by munching the dreaded melba toasts, my need for careful control was always with me. I could never let down my guard, or I’d go back to exactly who I was before. And in this industry, that was as good as suicide.
“Hey, Crazy?” he asked, his voice muffled by my hair.
“Mmm-hmm?”
“You know I love your body. I mean, come on, you’re beautiful. But it’s you, my Grace, who I fell in love with—the Chex-eating, foul-mouthed, funny girl. And nothing’s going to change that.”
Tears pricked at the back of my eyes, and I blinked them away. I looked up at him, wet hair falling in his eyes, strong arms encircling me, smelling like bubble bath and chocolate sauce.
“George, I couldn’t possibly love you more.”
“Me too, Gracie,” he said, kissing me softly.
Our kisses became more urgent, and soon his hands were inside my robe. My skin tightened as it always did when his hands were on me, and I found myself being walked backward over to the bathroom counter.
He spun me about so we both faced the mirror, and our eyes met. He slowly untied my robe and parted it, placed his hands on my hips, and pulled me back against him. I could feel him, and he was more than ready.
With his eyes still locked on mine, he gently removed the robe and let it fall to the ground. I watched him in the mirror as he watched his own hands travel over my body. I flinched slightly, reflexively trying to hide my body from him—the way I would have done years ago. He was having none of it. His hands, sure and strong, urged me to stand tall. He moved them from my hips up to my arms, then gently glided them back down from my shoulders to my elbows, finally grasping my hands and bringing them up over my head to tangle in his hair.
“Beautiful,” he murmured as he kissed my ear. I shivered.
He returned his hands to my body. Again he let his hands move across my skin, trailing his fingers down my arms and cupping my breasts in his hands.
“Beautiful,” he whispered, kissing my other ear. I moaned softly.
He let his hands move farther down my body, resting on the gentle curves of my hips, his perfect fingers splaying out to capture as much of my skin as he could hold. “Beautiful,” he groaned, his lips hovering near the base of my neck as his gaze moved from my hips back up to my eyes.
My skin was on fire from his caresses. His hands began one more trip, gently moving down to my thighs, which he nudged open with his leg. I arched my back, pressing my bottom into him as he brought his hands between my legs and stroked me. We both moaned, feeling how ready I was for him.
“Beautiful,” he hissed, and kissed my shoulder.
I watched him in the mirror, his breath getting faster. Pressing back against him again, I watched a wicked grin creep across his face. Hmmm . . .
I let my hands untangle from his hair and slowly placed them on the counter in front of me. Never leaving his gaze, I raised one eyebrow and leaned forward.
He got it.
He pushed my legs open farther, and I leaned farther forward on the counter. He slid inside me, and it felt so wonderful, I struggled not to close my eyes. He filled me completely, and while his fingers worked my sex, he stroked the magnificent spot inside that was named for him again and again.
“You. Are. Beautiful,” he whispered in my ear, punctuating each word with a thrust.
“Jack . . . oh, God, Jack . . .” I chanted as I watched the two of us in the mirror. This was totally new. To have him inside me like this felt totally different. And to be able to watch us together was amazingly erotic.
He continued to murmur “beautiful” over and over as he made love to me with such passion and caring. When we were both close, I leaned back against him, feeling his warm skin against mine. I closed my eyes, feeling
my insides contract as he crashed into me, bringing my orgasm, sweet and hot.
I cried out his name as he altered his stroke, hitting me in a different place and bringing a second and third orgasm in rapid succession. Then I watched his face through blurry eyes as he came inside me, collapsing against me with the word beautiful on his perfect lips.
He leaned on me, breathing heavily as he snuck his hands around, cupping my breasts. “That was—”
“Beautiful,” I finished, smiling at him in the mirror.
We stayed up that night watching a Friends marathon, laughing uproariously. But when the episode came on with Monica in the fat suit, he clammed up.
“Don’t be an idiot,” I said. “Monica in the fat suit is hilarious. I’ll be offended if you don’t laugh,” I said, hitting him with a pillow.
He gave in, and we both laughed at her dancing with the sub sandwich. When we finally went to sleep that night—me on my side, him behind me, with boobies in hand—he said, “Grace, explain what rock-in-the-sock has to do with your breasts.”
“What?”
I’d been almost asleep.
“When you were talking earlier about your boobs drooping—what do socks have to do with it?” he asked, his chin on my shoulder.
“Picture a sock, and then drop a rock in it. What happens to the sock?” I was glad he couldn’t see my rueful smile.
He was quiet a moment, then drew his breath in quickly. “Ew, Grace, that’s awful,” he muttered, gaining a tighter hold on my still-firm boobies.
I laughed. “Don’t worry, love. I’ll keep them worthy of your devotion for a long time to come. You don’t want to know what I have to do to keep my oonie nice and tight.”
“Jesus, Grace. Enough.” He cuddled me tighter.
I laughed again, thinking back to the days when push-up bras were just for proms and Kegels were just a myth in Cosmopolitan.
And here it was. Tuesday afternoon already. He didn’t want me to ride with him to the airport. He said it was silly for me to go all the way there just to turn around and have to ride back into the city.
I protested, but he won. So we waited in my apartment for his car to come, spending the last few minutes cuddled on the couch. I sat on his lap, and he had his arms around me, his head tucked into the space between my neck and shoulder. I played with his hair, and he traced circles on my back as the time ticked by.
“So, you’ll be back when you’re on the press tour, right? That isn’t so far away—only a few weeks.”
“Not too long. And then back to L.A. for the premiere, and you’ll be there for that, right?” he asked, kissing my neck.
“I already told Michael I might need that weekend off. It’s really close to the preview dates, but it should be okay. Even if I have to fly out and back within twenty-four hours, I wouldn’t miss your big night.” I smiled, kissing the top of his head in return.
“And then I’ll be back here for your opening night, and I might even be able to stay an extra day. Holly’s coming for your show, right?”
Hmm . . . I hadn’t spoken to her this weekend, and there were going to be some choice words when we talked. I was still upset that she hadn’t told me about Marcia.
“Yes, she’ll be there. She even talked about coming out for Thanksgiving, since I won’t be able to make it home.”
“That’s right, Thanksgiving. You Americans sure do like your holidays, don’t you?” He nibbled at my ear.
“Yeah, you’ll have to explain Boxing Day to me sometime,” I sassed, scrunching into a little ball at the feel of his lips teasing my skin.
“Sorry, I know that tickles. I’ll behave.” He laughed, tucking me back onto his lap. We were quiet a moment, and then he said, “So I think the worst is over, don’t you?”
“The worst?” I asked.
“I mean, we went several weeks without each other, but in the next month or so we’ll see each other more often. I think we handled the separation quite well, yes?”
Sometimes I forgot just how young he was, and other times I couldn’t forget no matter how hard I tried. He needed reassurance just as much as I did. This was just as tough on him as it was on me.
“Yes, I think we did great. And I do think the worst is over. Think about all the time we’ll have together when the promotional stuff is through—you can stay here as long as you want,” I said, grinning big.
“Oh—well, as soon as the premieres are over, I’m headed to London for the holidays and probably most of January. When will you be done with your show?” he asked.
“I don’t know yet. Depending on the reviews it gets, we could be up throughout the holidays, or we could already be closed. It’s all still up in the air.”
“Well, we don’t have to decide anything right now. It’ll all get figured out,” he said with an air of finality.
Damn. I missed our days in L.A. together—before he was being shunted off everywhere to promote his film and when all I had to worry about was auditions and turning in my freelance work on time. When we could spend all the time we wanted together. We hadn’t fully realized just how much time we’d had. We’d been spoiled.
Everything happening to us professionally was amazing, but personally, I craved a drive up the coast and Fatburger like nobody’s business.
Just then his phone beeped. It was the driver waiting downstairs.
My throat tightened. It seemed like I’d just said good-bye to him in L.A., and now I was doing it again. He reached for his bag, but before he could pick it up, I threw my arms around him again for another tight hug.
“I love you,” I said, crushing myself to him.
“I love you too, Grace,” he replied, lifting my chin to kiss me softly on the lips.
We took the elevator down, holding hands. Actually, I had threaded my arm through his and had a firm hold on both his hands. I didn’t want to let go. When we got outside, I saw a town car waiting. I gestured to the backseat and teased, “Sure you don’t want me to come with you?”
His eyes lit up, but then he smiled sadly. “No, love, you stay here. I don’t think I could handle the plane ride with a send-off like that. We’ll save it for when I come back.”
He handed his bag to the driver and pulled me tightly to him, resting his chin on the top of my head, his hands firmly on my hips.
“Miss me, okay? And tell those fangirls to quit grabbing your ass, or I might have to do a little ass kicking,” I warned, hugging him as tightly as I could.
I could feel him laughing. “You have no idea how much I will miss you, Crazy.” He sighed, pulling back for one last kiss.
“Call me when you land,” I called after him.
“I will, love.” He slipped into the car.
I watched it pull away, my fingers at my lips—the last place he’d kissed me. Then I went up to my apartment and started to clean furiously, keeping the tears at bay. When I finally finished hours later, it was late. I took a quick shower and climbed into bed. As I settled in, I noticed I’d missed Jack’s call while I was in shower.
I dialed voice mail and heard his sweet voice in my ear:
“Hey, Nuts Girl. Just landed and there were actually paparazzi at the airport. Can you believe that? Bizarre. Anyway, you’re probably asleep, but I miss you already. Call me in the morning. Love you. Say hi to the boobies for me. Bye.”
The tears flowed.
seven
I woke up the next morning puffy-eyed from crying but determined. Determined to work harder at trusting him and our relationship. Determined to focus on the amazing show I was currently part of. And determined to call out Holly on the Great Marcia Redirect, as I was now calling it in my head. Because I wasn’t dramatic at all.
No, not at all . . .
I had an early rehearsal, so with the time difference I wasn’t able to call her until we took a midmorning break. I knew I’d catch her at home.
“Hey, asshead,” she answered. “How’s that fine oonie this morning? Did Jack leave you able to wal
k?”
I imagined her in her kitchen, still in her pj’s, drinking her first cup of coffee. She always checked the entertainment sites on her laptop while she had breakfast to make sure none of her clients had been arrested in the night—or caught without panties climbing out of a limo. That had already happened several times this year. What was with these young starlets and their refusal to wear drawers?
“Yes, dillhole, I can walk. We had a great time. Although we did have a bit of an argument. You want to explain to me why you didn’t tell me about this whole Marcia thing? Jack told me your plan,” I said, my voice going icy.
She was quiet for a minute, then I heard her exhale slowly.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you myself. I went back and forth about that, but I thought it should come from Jack. If he didn’t tell you, I was going to—”
“He did tell me,” I interrupted. “But only after I saw the pictures on TMZ. That was awful, Holly.” My stomach clenched again as the images played on the inside of my eyelids in CinemaScope.
“Jesus, Grace. I’m so sorry. He promised he would tell you. That’s the only reason I didn’t. He would’ve told you anyway; I know he would. You do believe him that there’s nothing going on, right? I mean, he’s missing you fierce.”
She waited to see if I would thaw.
I wasn’t ready for that yet. “I believe him; I just don’t like it. But I get it. She has a movie; he has a movie—press is press, right?” My lip curled a little.
“It is exactly that. Just press,” Holly said. “Once I thrashed him for hanging out with her, the only thing we could do was use it. The more his fans are discussing her and whether they’re dating, the less attention there’ll be on anyone else he might be dating—namely, the unidentified redhead who was photographed with our Mr. Hamilton in New York a few days ago.”
Gulp.
“What?” I asked.
“Yep, it’s all over TMZ this morning. I can’t believe they waited three whole days to post it. Did you two take a walk in Central Park?” she asked, her tone professional now.