“Yep,” she answered.
“Abigail, this is my friend Grace. Can you say hi?” Michael asked, leaning her toward me.
I offered her my hand, and she shook it like a little grown-up.
“Hi, Abigail,” I said.
“Hi, Grace. Your hair is red,” she said promptly, pulling at a curl that had fallen out of my bun.
“Yes it is, and your hair is blond. You have very pretty hair, Miss Abigail.” I laughed, crossing my eyes at her.
She giggled. “You’re funny,” she said, looking at Michael for approval. “She’s funny, Uncle Michael.”
“Yeah, she’s pretty funny,” he said, then winked at me.
“She’s pretty, too,” Abigail crooned.
Michael flushed and cleared his throat, suddenly flustered. “Yes, Abigail, she’s very . . . pretty.” He hesitated, then finished with, “Just like you!” and gave her a raspberry on the cheek.
She screamed and kicked to be let down. Off she ran, back to playing in the rows.
“She’s supersweet, Keili. And you, Uncle Michael, you sure have a way with her. Although you always have preferred blondes,” I joked, poking the hair back into my clip.
“Not so much blondes,” he said softly, smiling his shy smile. Then he went to help Abigail investigate a coloring book.
Again, I was caught up in watching the two together. I became vaguely aware of someone calling my name.
“Grace! Hey, Grace!”
“What’s that?” I answered, distractedly.
“Didn’t you hear me? I was asking if you ever thought about having kids,” Keili said.
“Wow, that’s twice in as many weeks. What’s going on with the universe?”
“Someone else was asking you about having kids?” she asked, digging through her bag to find crayons for Abigail, who then took them to Michael.
“Yes, actually my boyfriend and I were talking about it,” I said, smiling as I always did when I used the word boyfriend to describe Jack.
“Oh yes, Michael mentioned you were seeing some guy. Quite a bit younger than you, I hear?” she asked, her face very curious.
“He’s younger than me, but it’s actually pretty great. He’s an actor too. He’s—well, I hate to use this word, but he’s awesome.” I smiled again, thinking of my George.
“How much younger?” she prompted.
I sighed, irritated that everyone was so preoccupied with this—including myself.
“Twenty-four.”
“Oh, well, hell—have your fun then, girl! For now . . .”
“For now? What does that mean?” I asked, looking at her carefully.
“Exactly what I said. Have fun! I’m a little envious of a fling with a young guy—wow. But I mean, what can you possibly have in common with a twenty-four-year-old? Other than S-E-X . . .” She sighed, smiling at the thought of S-E-X with a twenty-four-year-old, no doubt.
I knew what she meant, and since I’d known her so long, I didn’t take offense. But Jack and I had more in common than just the S-E-X, didn’t we? Sure we did.
Keili stayed for rehearsal, and we spent a little more time together over lunch. She promised to e-mail and keep me updated on the baby. She was due right before the show went up, so it was doubtful she’d make it back to the city before she gave birth.
I was very glad to have seen her, but she’d planted a seed.
She’d planted several.
eight
Jack had started his worldwide promotional tour for Time. He was truly amazed at how many fans turned up to see him everywhere he went—and he was more than a little freaked out by it.
“Grace, it was just this blast of screaming. I could barely tell which end was up. I couldn’t even tell where it was coming from. And then the outside doors opened while I was going through the hotel, and there they all were,” he explained late one night, calling from his hotel in Chicago.
“I’m not surprised, love. You’re their Joshua. They love you.” I sighed, wishing I were there with him.
“It’s just so weird. I mean, last year I could barely get into a casting director’s office, and now?”
“Hey, you’re about to have Hollywood by the balls. When this movie opens you’ll be bankable. Everyone’s gonna want to work with you. Wait and see.”
“I know, I just . . . Jesus, if they only knew—” he started to say.
“If they only knew what? If they only knew you were an amazing musician? If they only knew you’re the funniest motherfucker this side of London? If they only knew how much you love your Fatburger?”
“Please. No one cares that I like Fatburger.” He chuckled.
“Oh, really? I know how the minds of teen girls operate. I guarantee, if you mention your favorite fast food, at some point it will be mentioned again. Us girls love that stuff. I still remember who Joey McIntyre’s favorite singer was from back in 1991.” I laughed, remembering how I used to read BOP and Teen Beat cover to cover.
“Girls are all mental. And somehow I ended up with the craziest one of all,” he teased.
“Tread carefully there, or I’ll make you watch my Hangin’ Tough Live tape.”
“Tape? Like an actual videotape? Wow, like, from the eighties?”
“You’re on thin ice, fucko.” I tried to stifle a yawn, but he caught it.
“You need to get some sleep, love. You sound exhausted. How are the rehearsals going?”
“They’re good. Everything is pretty well set. No more rewrites, so it’s getting easier.” I snuggled under the covers. This was the time of night I missed him most.
“You’ll be ready to open?” he asked, covering his own yawn.
“Yes, I think so. Sweet Nuts, you sound tired too. Why don’t we go to sleep?”
“That sounds good. If I were there, what do you think we’d be doing now?” he asked.
I heard his covers rustling. Somehow, knowing we were both doing the same thing made me feel better. “Hmm, right about now you’d be turning me on my side.”
“Yes?”
“And sneaking your hands under my shirt.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“And now you’d probably be surrounding my boobies with your hands.”
“Definitely.”
“And now you’d be groaning.”
“Because your boobies feel so fantastic?”
“No, because I just turned on Golden Girls, and it’s the episode where Rose tells Dorothy and Blanche about the Great Herring War.”
“And on that note, I will say good night. Say good night, Gracie.”
“Good night, Gracie.”
I could hear a click as he turned out his light.
“I love you, Jack.”
“I love you too, Grace.”
The next week was hell for both of us. I was in daily rehearsals all day and usually well into the night. He was on his monster promo tour all over the country. I checked in on him each day via the Internet, and my Sweet Nuts looked exhausted. But he was having fun too. As a great tie-in to the time-traveling aspect of the film, the studio had booked personal appearances for Jack in the science centers and museums across the country. These places had never seen such giddy crowds! This was truly the most exciting thing he’d ever gone through, and when he told me how nervous he was, or how much it freaked him out when everyone screamed at him, I simply reminded him that this was awesome.
He was experiencing something hardly anyone in the world could appreciate, and the more he gave to his fans, the more they loved him. They loved that he said whatever he wanted, that he was self-deprecating, that he was funny and silly—and, boy, did they love that he was British.
“I’m just about to get in the shower. What’s your schedule like today?” I asked one day when he called to check in. He was somewhere in the Midwest, although he wasn’t sure exactly where. Different city, different hotel every day.
“Mmm, taking a shower are you?”
“Yes, George, settle down. Although I do miss s
howering with you,” I said, knowing the reaction I’d get.
“Stop it. Killing me!”
“You know how much I love to wash your hair. It makes me a little crazy,” I purred into the phone, grinning like a cat. “That’s something only I get to do.”
“Maybe I should include that in the interview I have this afternoon. I can tell them all about this nuts girl that gets off washing my hair while I hold on to her boobies—for balancing purposes only,” he teased.
“You wouldn’t dare. That hair and those coconuts are mine and mine alone,” I laughed.
“Mmm, don’t remind me, Grace. Not right now. I have a meet and greet in twenty minutes, and I don’t think I could explain away my current state of excitement.”
“Easy there, trigger. Only two more days and then you can channel your excitement my way.”
He was going to be in town for literally twenty-four hours, at least sixteen of which were taken up by promotional and press obligations. I would be in rehearsals. The only time we’d have together would be the night. Which was fine by me; I’d take what I could get.
I’d watched daily as his confidence grew and the mobs increased. He’d had to start traveling with security, since each night his hotel was crawling with Joshua lovers. He used aliases at each hotel, never checking in under Jack Hamilton. Once he used my name—a dangerous little game. A few times he used a combination of Holly’s name and mine, and then? Then he really starting having fun with it.
In the same week, in different cities across the country, if you were looking for Jack Hamilton, you could have found him under the names:
George McHair
Johnny Nuts
Sheridan McGeorge
And, my personal favorite:
Sophia Patrillo
Finally, he was in New York. I was on pins and needles all day, not only because he was here but also because I didn’t know when exactly I was going to get to see him. His costar Rebecca was in town as well for this part of the movie tour, and we’d all planned to meet at an Italian restaurant for dinner. This time he was staying at the Plaza.
Nice.
We texted most of the day. He was all over town—on Today at Seventeen magazine, MTV Studios, radio stations—you name it and he was there, ending the day with a Super Sexy Scientist Guy event at the American Museum of Natural History. One of his last texts made me blush . . . a lot.
Grace, I’m going to fuck you until you can’t see straight tonight. Are you ready for that, Crazy?
Sweet mother-of-pearl . . .
George, Get. Over. Here. As. Soon. As. You. Can. Make me see God!
Last one:
Grace, will pick you up at the theater at 9 for dinner. Will be in a black town car. Panties are unnecessary.
That motherfucker. I still had four hours of rehearsal. How the hell was I going to get through this?
I clicked my phone off, giggling, my face flushing. He never failed to get a reaction out of me, which was exactly his intent. As I smiled to myself, I noticed Michael watching me. He nodded to my phone.
“What?” I asked, still flushed.
“Hot date?” he asked, taking the seat next to mine.
“Um, well, yes. He’s only in town for a day, so we’re going out for dinner. You should see the schedule they have him on.” I brushed my hair back from my face and tucked it into a sloppy bun, my constant hairstyle these days. One piece didn’t make it in, and I fussed with it.
“That’s good. I mean, good that you get to see him for a night,” Michael said, watching me futz with my hair. “Your schedule’s been pretty busy too. Is he going to make it back out for the show?”
The curl fell out again. I pushed it back. “He says yes, but who knows, with the amount of press he’s doing? He’s heading to England for the London premiere, and then to France. So I don’t know if he’s going to make it for our opening. I know he’ll try.” I sighed, slumping in my chair a little.
“Well, you’re going to be amazing. I know he’ll want to see that.”
“Thanks. We’ll see. I’m starting to get really nervous,” I admitted, making my eyes huge to mask how nervous I truly was.
“You’re not going to ruin another pair of my shoes are you?” he asked.
I immediately laughed. When we were in college, I had the lead in a musical—my biggest role since junior high. Michael was running the light board for the show, so he watched us rehearse each day. He’d offer me his critique each night as we walked home, and his opinion was always important to me. Because as much as he enjoyed my singing, he was never a yes-man; he always gave honest feedback.
Opening night I showed up at his apartment, shaking. I was so nervous that when he opened the door, I threw up on his shoe. After he removed the unfortunate Adidas, we sat on his couch and listened to Toad the Wet Sprocket. He wrapped his arms around me and told me everything would be fine. That I would kick ass and take names. That I should never second-guess my talent. To trust myself.
In the end, I did kick ass. But I still tend to get nervous on opening night.
“Well, we’ll see, won’t we?” I said, smiling as I returned to the present. “It’s been almost ten years since I’ve been on any real kind of stage, so I’d steer clear of my mouth.” I laughed, and the curl fell out one more time. “Blasted hair,” I muttered.
We both reached for it at the same time. He got there first. As I stared, he tucked it back into my bun, his hand lingering maybe just one second too long.
In that second, things began to change for us.
He looked at me with those brown eyes I remembered from all those years ago. Those brown eyes that used to light up when we’d laugh together. Those brown eyes that would deepen when we argued.
We’d been such great friends. We spent countless hours alone together—doing laundry, watching movies, cooking dinner—but the friendship we had was never anything more. Although I had very strong feelings for him that were definitely more than friendly, he seemed not at all interested in me romantically, so I kept them to myself.
But when I was onstage, it was a different matter entirely. Every so often I would catch him looking at me, when his guard was down. The way he looked at me when I was singing gave me hope that someday he might come to return my feelings. I was head over heels in love with my friend Michael, and I wanted nothing more than for him to want me in the same way.
And then, that night came. In those brown eyes I had once, just once, seen my love for him mirrored back. Those brown eyes had closed tightly in passion during our one night together.
I’d thought of those brown eyes occasionally over the years, wondering what had happened to him and where he was. And now I’d come to know those brown eyes, trust those brown eyes, all over again.
Those eyes now looked back at me with confusion and trepidation and . . . something else. Was I imagining it? Was I just seeing what I wanted to see?
Wait—did I want to see that?
My phone beeped, and his eyes changed. He pulled his hand back as I looked at my phone.
I smiled sheepishly. “Holly.”
He nodded and stood up. He started to walk away, then paused for a split second before continuing on. I pressed IGNORE on my phone and sat back into my chair, stunned by the rush of emotions I felt.
What the hell was going on? Michael was looking at me in a way that, well, I would have loved to have him look at me ten years ago.
Not now.
Right?
I shook it off. I had to. I threw myself into the last part of rehearsal, losing myself in the show and the work of creating Mabel. This ate up the rest of the evening, and All Things Michael were locked safely in the Drawer to be forgotten.
When we finally broke for the night, it was almost nine, and I was anxious to see Jack. I’d brought along some clothes for dinner, and I quickly changed into the heather-gray wool wraparound dress Leslie and I had found at Bergdorf’s a few weeks ago. I paired it with knee-high black boots, giant
hoop earrings, sassy red lipstick, and a huge smile.
I waited for him in the lobby of the theater, saying good-bye to the other cast members as they left. Several of the guys from the crew wolf-whistled at me, and I grinned. It was nice to know I could still clean up pretty well.
Michael walked out and said good-bye quickly, then stopped at the door. He looked back as if he were about to say something but continued through the doors.
As I pondered this development, my phone buzzed. It was the Brit.
“Hi,” I answered.
“Hi, yourself. Are you ready?” he asked in a low voice.
“I’m ready. Where are you?” I asked, smoothing my dress.
“I’m outside in the car. I can see you in the lobby, Grace,” he said, his voice almost a whisper.
“You can see me, can you? What am I doing?” I asked, bending over to pick up my purse from the bench, making sure to stand up slowly, arching my back and pushing my chest forward.
“Mmm, I love it when you bend.” He chuckled darkly.
“Now, that’s one I haven’t heard before.” I laughed as I buttoned my calf-length camel leather coat over my dress and wrapped a red cashmere scarf around my neck.
“Fucking Nuts Girl, you know what it does to me when I see you in red.” He groaned.
“Well, then, you’ll love what’s underneath this dress,” I said, loving that he could see me and I couldn’t see him.
I put a little extra bounce and sway in my hips as I walked across the lobby toward the glass doors. They automatically swished open, and as the crosstown bus pulled away from the curb, I saw him.
He was leaning against the town car, looking like a wet dream come true. Black jeans, black V-neck sweater, leather jacket. He gave great lean . . .
“You look beautiful, Crazy,” he murmured as I walked toward him.
“You look crazy beautiful,” I answered.
I took the cell phone from his hand and closed it. I shut mine off and placed them both in my bag. Then I leaned in, placing my mouth very close to his right ear. “There’ll be no need for phones tonight. I plan on engaging in a little personal, one-on-one communication, yes?” I kissed the spot right below his ear that I knew drove him out of his mind.