The Redhead Revealed
Page 11

He was a brilliant businessman who conducted his business in old Timberland boots, faded jeans, and a North Face hoodie—all the while chewing Fruit Stripe gum. He had investors lining up to consider backing this show, and he did it all with the same charm and subtlety that had won over the girls back in the day. He was incredibly charming and funny, and the years had only intensified his draw on the opposite sex.
Hot guy? Of course. Funny hot guy? All the more enticing.
I was his gut check when he needed a reminder that the show was fantastic—and he really had written an amazing show. He was my gut check when I got nervous about all the investors and critics coming to see the show (and me) in mere weeks.
Christ in a sidecar—critics!
But he handled me. And I handled him. That’s what friends do. Our friendship was symbiotic, complementary, and, I slowly realized, becoming a wee bit blurry around the edges.
I knew what had been going on when Jack was in town. It just took Leslie to drag it out of The Drawer and into my face. The fact that I pushed my own shit to the side meant sometimes I pushed other people’s fairly obvious shit off to the side too. Michael had always been a little territorial when it came to me, and even though it had been years since I brought some new guy over to sit on the quad with us after class, he was still the same way. We’d fallen into our old ways again so quickly when I came to New York—it seemed perfectly logical that he would react that way to Jack.
***
Michael’s sister, Keili, came to town about a week after Jack’s visit, and I was thrilled to see her. She was a few years older than us, but she had gone to the same college. Holly and I used to spend the night at her apartment freshman year when we needed to get out of the dorm. This usually meant Michael would spend the night too, and since it was college, this meant we all ended up snuggling on Keili’s futon in the living room. We passed the bong, ate ramen, listened to Alanis, and talked about what we wanted to be when we grew up.
I was running a little late for rehearsal and came dashing in babbling apologies. I saw a pretty brunette talking to Michael at the front of the theater, and when she turned, I saw that it was Keili. She looked the same: sparkling brown eyes, sweet loving face…and a giant belly. My eyes flew open in astonishment as I raced down the aisle.
“Keili!” I exclaimed, hugging her fiercely.
“Grace, it’s so good to see you,” she said, with an equally forceful hug.
“Jesus, you’re huge!” I said, taking in her very pregnant state.
“Ugh, I know. Four more weeks and then he’s out of me.” She grimaced.
“He? It’s a boy?” I asked, smiling at her glowing-but-frowning face.
“Oh yeah. Add that to the two we already have at home and you’ll see why I’m never allowing my husband to have s-e-x with me again.” She laughed ruefully.
“You might want to check with Shane on that one, sis. I don’t know that any man is happy when you take away the s-e-x,” I heard Michael say, and I turned to see him, arms full of toddler.
“Who is this?” I asked, walking over to see.
“This little rugrat is my niece Abigail,” he said, turning her upside down as she giggled and squealed.
“Stop it, Uncle Michael. You stop it!” she said, red faced.
He turned her right side up and placed her on the ground. She ran away, spinning slightly as she caught her balance, and then continued on her path, weaving back and forth between the rows.
“So what is she, like, six?” I asked, mentally doing the math.
“Grace, she’s three,” Michael chided, looking at me incredulously.
“Oh shit, I don’t know—anyone under about fourth grade looks the same to me. Can they read at that age?” I frowned, crinkling my nose. I truly was clueless.
“Shit, shit, shit, shit…” I heard Abigail chattering as she ran back and forth.
Michael raised his eyebrows at me. “Grace, you can’t swear around kids. Either spell it or, better yet, just think before you speak.”
Keili laughed silently, watching the exchange.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean it.” I blushed furiously.
“Don’t let him fool you,” said Keili. “Who do you think taught her the word ‘asshole?’” She mouthed the last word.
Now that I was not the only one blushing, I turned back to Keili. “So you have another at home too?”
“Yes, Oliver. He’s almost five. He stayed at home with Daddy today. He’s getting over a bad cold,” she explained. Her ears perked up as we all heard a big bang from the end of a row. Seven seconds later we heard Abigail cry.
“That’s the I’m-more-scared-than-hurt cry. I’ll get her,” Michael said, walking briskly in the direction of Abigail’s newly red face as it appeared over the back of the last chair.
We watched him go to her and pick her up. He held her tight against his chest, and he told the nasty chair that bonked her in the head to leave his Abigail alone.
I smiled, watching him with her. Keili caught me and smiled her own secret smile. The two of us caught up for a few minutes, and she was very pleased to learn Michael and I had become close again. The whole family was thrilled he was working in New York. They hailed from Connecticut and were glad to have him close to home again.
“And, Grace, he was so totally floored when you turned up for that audition. It worked out perfectly. I always hated how you two ended things,” she said.
Keili had heard the entire story—from both sides. Ultimately, as Michael and I lost touch, she and I had as well. But she was always a fan of the two of us, and one of the only ones who saw our friendship for what it truly was back then: more than friendship.
“I hated how we ended things too. But that’s all in the past. I’m just glad we can work together now. It’s been so long since I’ve had a great guy friend, and it’s been nice to go through this process with him,” I said, watching as Michael now showed Abigail the lighting above the stage and how to move the followspot.
He was so great with her: calm and attentive, relaxed and happy. And she adored her Uncle Michael. I found myself watching her as well. She was really funny, curious about everything, asking question after question. Michael was patient, answering every question with the same careful detail he gave everyone else. He caught me watching them and smiled over the top of her head as he carried her across the back of the theater.
“And now you live here in New York! That’s so great. We’ll get to spend so much more time together. Once I have this baby I’ll be able to come into the city more often,” she prattled on.
“Well, I wouldn’t say I live here. I live in L.A. In fact, I just finished remodeling a house there that I bought last spring, and I can’t wait to get back to it when this is all over. It’s still a work in progress, but I love it.” I sighed, my face breaking into the smile I always got when I thought of my cozy bungalow in the canyon.
“Oh, I thought you were living here now. At least that’s what Michael said.”
“Well, that’s mostly true. I mean, I’m here until the show is over, and then we’ll have to wait and see what happens with it. I’m having a blast out here, but I love L.A. It’s my home,” I said.
She looked at me for a moment, then grimaced and rolled her eyes. “Jeez, guy, settle down in there,” she warned, taking a sip of her water and patting her stomach.
“Is he…what is it that they do? Kick?” I asked, looking at her stomach nervously.
“Yeah, you can say that again. He kicks and kicks so much. I must be cooking up a soccer player in here. Oof!” She rubbed her belly.
I watched her hand curiously, wondering what it felt like to have a baby rolling around inside you, kicking. Weird.
“Yes, you can.” She smiled.
“Huh?” I asked, my eyes snapping up to hers.
“You want to feel, right?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I mean…would that be strange?” I asked, backing away a little.
“Grace, you used to stand guard while I peed on the side of the road. Nothing is strange.” She laughed, grabbing my hand and placing it on her belly.
“Wait, I don’t know if I should—whoa. Wait, is that…is that a…kick?” I asked, eyes wide. It didn’t feel like a kick exactly, but more like a flutter. I imagine it would feel like a kick if it were my bladder taking the beating. Fascinating.
This felt strange.
I’d seen pregnant women walk around me every day of my life, and not once did I ever feel the compulsion to put my hand on there and feel. But this felt, strangely, normal. Stranger than that, it felt…nice?
“Feels cool, doesn’t it?” I heard Michael ask. I looked at him with the deer-in-the-headlights eyes and nodded.
He stood close to me, Abigail in his arms. He smiled.
I smiled back.
“That’s my brother in there,” Abigail explained, looking from my hand to my face.
“It is? Does that mean you’re going to be a big sister?” I asked her, smiling.
“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 grownup.
“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 tooo,” Abigail crooned.
Michael flushed and cleared his throat, suddenly flustered. He snuck a look at me, then nodded his head. “Yes, Abigail, she’s very…pretty.” He hesitated, then finished with, “Just like you!” then gave her a zerbert on the cheek.
She screamed and kicked to be let down. Off she ran, back to playing in the rows.
“She’s super sweet, Keili, really. 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 sticking out of her mother’s purse.
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?” I chuckled, thinking of my conversation with Jack.
“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.
“What? Oh, well, 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.
“Boyfriend? Oh, yes, Michael mentioned you were seeing some guy. Quite a bit younger than you, I hear?” she asked, her face very curious.
“Yes, 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…” She trailed off.
“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, come on, 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 email 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.
Chapter 8
Jack had started his trek around the world. 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, I mean, it was just this blast of screaming. I could barely tell which end was up. I couldn’t really 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.
He was basically living out of a suitcase at this point, on the promotional tour for Time.
“I’m not surprised, love. You’re their Joshua. They love you.” I sighed into the phone, wishing I were there with him.
“It’s just so weird. I mean, literally last year I could barely get into a casting director’s office, and now?” He laughed mournfully.
“Hey, you’re about to have that town by the balls. When this movie opens you’ll be bankable. Everyone’s gonna want to work with you. Wait and see.”