The Unidentified Redhead
Page 8

“What?” I shouted, springing up to run in circles.
Of course a seagull shit on my head.
His laughter rang out down the beach.
Chapter 8
Repeated rinses in the Gladstone’s bathroom and a roll of paper towels later, I emerged ready to face whatever was coming, and I knew there would be no mercy shown. Jack was waiting for me, and his face lit up when he saw me.
“Nice ‘do, Sheridan,” he joked. I had attempted to dry it with the hand blower, resulting in sticky strands radiating outward from my mortified face.
“Keep your f**king mouth shut or I will kick you next time I am wearing pointy shoes,” I warned, noticing how the wait staff was struggling not to laugh.
Obviously, Jack had clued them in to what had happened with the seagull. I knew, then, that he would never let this go.
I started walking toward the parking lot, when I heard one of the waiters say, “Miss? You forgot your doggy-bag!”
Don’t forget your leftover coconut shrimp. You’ll want that tonight at about midnight.
Never one to pass on food, I turned back around and went to grab it. I noticed that it was wrapped not in the traditional aluminum swan shape, but in the shape of a mother-loving seagull.
Blasted.
The entire staff started laughing aloud while Jack laughed harder. I sweetly smiled and took my shrimp, then informed him where he could stick his seagull.
He shook his head and walked with me out to the car, starting toward the driver’s side, when I stopped him.
“Oh, no, fucko. Driving privileges are revoked. Keys, please.” I motioned with my hand as he withdrew them from his pocket.
“Oh, come on, Sheridan. That was hilarious! You’ll tell that story for the rest of your life. That was pure comedy. You can’t write shit like that!” he pleaded with me, handing me my keys and sinking into the passenger seat. “I can’t believe you’re pouting. You know bloody well if this happened to someone else, you would be in hysterics on the floor,” he continued.
“Listen, Johnny Bite Down.” I turned to him. “While I admit it would be slightly funny if it was someone else, it wasn’t. It was me. And until I have showered or removed my head from my body, or both, let’s not discuss it,” I snapped, peeling out of the parking lot and heading back toward Sunset. We were both quiet for a moment, and then I added, “Well, maybe it is more than slightly funny. But now I am gross and defiled. I feel violated.”
“Oh hell, if it’s defilement and violation you want I can think of a few things … wait, what did you call me? Johnny Bite Down?” he cried, turning to look at me.
“Please, like you don’t know how hot it makes you look! You with your biting down on your lower lip and your accent and your curly hair. You look like you’re gonna throw me up against the wal and make me scream your name!” I shouted, al the adrenaline from the day pumping through me and flying out of my mouth.
Too much, too much! Man Down, Man Down!
I looked at him. He sat there stunned at my outburst. I fumbled with the stereo, trying to plug my iPod back in, while I chanced another look at him.
He looked confused now, but was smiling.
“That might have been the hottest thing anyone has ever said to me,” he said.
“Well, I say hot things when I have poo-hair,” I acknowledged with a smile, trying to diffuse the situation. I was still struggling with my iPod.
“Can I help you with that?” he asked, trying to help.
“I can’t get this into the little hole,” I answered.
“That’s what she said,” we both said, at the same time. We were stopped at a stoplight, and we stared at each other.
“You might be the most perfect girl I have ever met,” he said, looking at me in amazement.
“Perfection will cost you, pretty boy,” I said brightly, as I sped back into the city. He selected a song and we danced in our seats the rest of the way home.
When we got back to Hol y’s place, I turned into the garage and Jack directed me toward his car. It was an old MG that looked like it was held together with a string.
“Aren’t you glad we took your car today?” he inquired, nodding his head toward his car.
“Well, I suppose. Although, other than the seagull poo, this was a great day. Whose car we took wouldn’t have changed that,” I replied, as I allowed myself a small moment of honesty. He leaned up in his seat, turning his entire body toward me.
“It was a great day. I’m so glad we did this … no jokes. It was great.” The structured walls of our banter were coming down, and the deafening roar of pheromones was beginning to seep through. You can’t fight chemistry.
“So, you have a date with your gay, if I heard Holly correctly?” he asked.
I shook my head for a moment, trying to remember. “Oh, my gay! Yes, we’re going out dancing with Nick. You remember Nick from the other night right? He’s head of your West Hollywood fan base. You know you’re hot when you cross over into that crowd,” I teased.
“Yes, that’s what I hear.” He laughed. We were quiet for a moment, seemingly at a loss for words. I was thinking of that kiss and whether I had the right to ask for another one. I needed another hit of Hamilton. I didn’t want him to go, and he didn’t seem to want to either. However, I knew I needed to get home and get ready for tonight.
“Call me tomorrow?” I asked tentatively. His fingers came up to brush my cheek. I leaned into his hand without knowing I would do it until I did.
“You can count on that, Grace,” he answered, letting his fingers sweep softly over my lips. I kissed his fingertips lightly and then smiled.
“OK, now get out of my car, snatch,” I joked as I watched his face fall.
“You will be the death of me, Sheridan. I can already tell.” He sighed, unfolding his long legs to get out of the car.
“Yes, but it will be a good death. I’ll be gentle. You won’t even know I’m coming.”
He turned back and grinned. “That’s what she said.” Perfection.
“Oh, and Grace?” he continued, walking toward his car. He stopped when he reached it and leaned back against the door. “I will definitely know when you’re coming. And so will you,” he said, biting down on that lower lip.
Fucking Perfection.
I found my chin somewhere in my lap and attempted to drive home. I ran two stop signs and almost hit a Pomeranian.
When I arrived back at Holly’s house, it was almost six, and I wanted to make us some dinner before going out for our ass-shakery. She had a fantastic kitchen, with a professional range and Sub-Zero fridge. I indulged my inner chef whenever possible.
She wasn’t home yet, so I put two glasses in the freezer to chill for cocktails.
I paced between the pantry and the fridge, taking out everything I needed.
Opening a can of San Marzano tomatoes, I drained them into a colander and then put a pot of water on the stove to boil. Then, I rinsed off some fresh spinach and dumped it into the salad spinner to dry while I sliced and grilled some good Italian bread, rubbing it with garlic for crostini.
When Holly walked in, I was frantically chopping onions on the cutting board with tears streaming down my face.
“Grace, it’s fine. Don’t get all choked up. I’m home now,” she stated dramatically, taking in my tear-stained face.
“Funny, Holls, funny. Cocktail?” I asked, gesturing toward the fridge.
“Are you offering or asking me to make one?” She rolled her eyes, already on her way.
“Asking obviously. Extra dirty please,” I reminded her as she grabbed the vodka and olives.
“Something smells good—what the hell happened to your hair?” she asked, stopping in her tracks to take a closer look. I hadn’t had time to shower yet, and my hair was still in orbit from the beach/poo incident.
“You don’t want to know, but I’ll tell you later.” I sighed, thinking about the heaven that was happening right before the shit hit the fan.
Are you technically a fan? Hi-Yo! Bah Dum Bum.
“Never mind, I’ll let it remain a mystery,” she replied, sitting down across from me at the counter. “So, how is the British invasion going? Has he invaded your hoohah yet?”
Sweet lord.
“How long have you been waiting to use that one?” I asked, staring at her.
“Just since this afternoon, I swear,” she protested. “Things went well, though, I take it?”
“Yeah, it was good. And no hoohah has been invaded.” I gestured with my knife, pointing it at her.
“Really? You’re losing your touch, missy.”
“If I may remind you, Slutty Slutterson, I only met him a few days ago. That’s hardly enough time to let anyone invade anything,” I scolded her, dropping the pasta in the pot with a big handful of kosher salt. Giada would have been proud.
“And if I may remind you of a certain night in New York City, New Year’s Eve, I believe it was … ” she scolded back.
“No, you may not remind me. That was a long time ago.” I shushed her.
“Really, Grace, in a bathroom at the Marriott Marquis … for shame.” She shook her finger at me.
“Enough! You wanna go? You wanna go?” I warned. “Graduation? Nicholas Rabinowitz … and his girlfriend?” That shut her up fast.
“Truce?” She huffed, eying me warily.
“Truce,” I agreed, offering her my olive.
“Olive juice,” she said.
“Olive juice, too, ya little fruitcake,” I admitted, adding oil to the pan and lightly browning some garlic.
“Hmm, so no invasion yet. But how did the afternoon go?” she asked, stealing a tomato out of the bowl.
“Hey, you’ll spoil your dinner! And today was … wow,” I said, closing my eyes briefly.
“That good, huh? Where did you go?” she asked, taking the opportunity while my eyes were closed to grab another tomato.
“We drove Sunset al the way to the beach and then had lunch at Gladstone’s.
I saw that, by the way,” I chided, calling her out on her tomato thievery.
“And then what happened?” she asked, leaning forward on her stool.
“Then we walked on the beach and we talked and laughed and laid on the sand, andthenhekissedmeandaseagullshitonmyhead.” I rushed through the last part, holding my breath to see which admission would get the loudest scream.
I was surprised when I heard, “He kissed you! Fuck me, Grace, you just made out on a freaking beach with Super Sexy Scientist Guy!” She launched herself across the cook top and hugged me, coming dangerously close to lighting herself on fire.
“Hey, hey, watch yourself! Be careful, please. I want to go dancing tonight, not to the burn unit!” I shouted, untangling her arms from around my neck and scooting her safely back across to her side of the counter. She watched me closely as she sipped her drink.
“He’s not Joshua. He’s Jack. And he’s damn fine,” I added, pressing my lips together trying not to scream myself. “And we didn’t technically make out. We kissed.”
“Tongue?”
“No tongue … not yet.” I waggled my eyebrows at her. She continued to watch me in amazement. I could tell she was beside herself that her best friend was getting some play. Holly and I still talked as if we were teenagers.
“The thing is, though, I don’t get it. I mean, I’m like, nine years older than he is.” I said grumbling.
Yep, I had done the math.
“So? He clearly doesn’t care about you being an old bag,” she teased, winking at me.
“No, seriously. He is cool and all and we have a good time together. And fuck, there are some powerful sex vibes being thrown back and forth, but come on! He’s going to realize any second that this is crazy.” I stirred the sauce vigorously, finally giving voice to my concerns.
“He seems to like crazy and you definitely fit that bill. Besides, I don’t know who you think you’re convincing here. I’ve seen some of the guys you were dating before you moved back out here. They were all younger than you,” she challenged.
“That wasn’t dating, that was eight years of sexual frustration exploding and landing on pretty boys.” I smiled, thinking about Trevor, my trainer at the gym.
Mmm, remember when he had you work on your core strength by making you balance on the exercise ball, while his mouth worked on your …
“Grace, the pasta is done,” she interrupted my thoughts. “Take it out before it gets soft.”
“That’s what she said,” I muttered, smiling to myself. Maybe I could handle this after all.
“Wait a minute! You just cooked me dinner with bird shit in your hair?” Oops.
After dinner, I let Holly clean up the kitchen while I went to take a shower.
After washing my hair three times in scalding water, I exfoliated myself in all the places that need exfoliating and was shaving my armpits when I heard Holly come into my bathroom. I peered through the frosted glass at her.
“What the hell? You here for a peep show?” I asked.
“I couldn’t wait to show you this. Look what’s on the internet,” she said, mischief in her voice. I opened the door slightly and looked at her laptop. It was on the TMZ home page.
It was Jack and me at lunch. He was laughing, hand in his hair and leaning toward me. I was glaring at him, pointing with a shrimp.
I remembered this moment. He had just told me I had a bat in the cave.
The caption below the picture said:
“New heart-throb, Jack Hamilton, caught at the beach with an unidentified redhead. Is this the new lady in his life?” The next few pictures were of Jack and the two women that had approached him for the pictures. Those bitches sold his pictures to make a buck!