The Redhead Revealed

I felt the audience and the energy they gave me. They laughed when Mabel laughed, cried when Mabel cried, and we went through it together. That’s the thing about live theater. It’s different every night, and when you’re truly there and truly present, it’s magic. Pure and simple.

When the curtain came down and the cast assembled for bows, I let myself feel it, finally. I’d made it to where I’d wanted to be since I was seven singing along to My Fair Lady in front of the mirror, a Ken doll as my scene partner. Since I’d auditioned for my first play at eleven, singing “Memories” like every other damn kid in the country. Since I’d won my first leading role when I was fourteen and played Maria in The Sound of Music (ah, junior high). Since I’d seen Rent and bawled my eyes out at the thought this was no longer within my grasp.

And to have come full circle—to stand in the spotlight, hear the applause, and know the people I loved were onstage with me and in the audience, and that I was making a living doing something I would gladly do for free?

I lost it. I cried and laughed simultaneously as Leslie pushed me out front for my own curtain call. That’s when I saw him. Standing next to Holly and Nick, with a smile as big as I’d ever seen, was my Brit. He clapped harder than anyone else in the audience with a look of such pride—but all three of them probably had bruised hands from the way they carried on.

And if I’m being honest? I fucking killed it!

I was five different kinds of thrilled. He came! He came for me on my big night. My tears flowed as I smiled big.

***

After the curtain call, I paced nervously in my dressing room. The cast was in and out, offering congratulations. Michael was on cloud nine, and the early feedback from investors in the audience was good. I knew Holly and Nick would be coming backstage, but would Jack be with them? I mean, surely he wouldn’t fly all the way out here and then not come see me. Would he?

I continued to eat Tums like they were going out of style, and I heard a soft knock on my door.

“Yeah?” I said through a mouthful of chalky grit and opened the door.

“These are for you, Grace.” One of the stagehands handed me the biggest bunch of peonies I’d ever seen. Where anyone found peonies in December was beyond me, but there they were. As I peered through the blooms, I found a snack pack of Chex Mix buried inside, with a Post-it note attached. I laughed out loud as I read the “card.”

Congratulations, Gracie.

This celebratory Chex Mix

should help settle your tummy.

If you like, save the Melba toasts

and bring them to me tomorrow at lunch???

Jack

P.S. You were radiant.

I looked out into the hallway to see if he was there, but all I saw was a flash of Holly as she, followed closely by Nick, barreled into me.

“Oh, girl, you were fierce!” Nick cried, taking the opportunity to look down my robe and nod approvingly at my boobies.

“Thanks, Nick. I’m glad you enjoyed it. Holly! Hey, Holly?” I tried to dislodge my best friend from her death grip on me.

Finally she released me and attempted clear her throat. “You were great, ya little fruitcake,” she said, her voice gruff and thick.

“Thanks, dear. Wait a minute. Are you crying? Holly, no…” I gasped as she raised her eyes to me.

“Oh, shut up, asshead. You were amazing, okay? I’m allowed to cry once every ten years. Now piss off,” she warned, smacking me lightly on the cheek. She saw me looking over her shoulder toward the hallway, and she smacked me a little harder.

“He went back to his hotel, if that’s who you’re looking for.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me he was coming!” I yelled before sinking into my chair and begi

“I didn’t know until the last minute. He asked me last week when your opening was, and then the next thing I knew he had a ticket waiting at Will Call next to mine tonight. Go figure,” she said, tossing her hair and looking away too quickly.

“Hmm,” I said, eyeing my face in the mirror. Nick was chuckling behind me.

“And what, may I ask, is so fu

“Holly was talking about your opening.” He giggled, and I rolled my eyes.

“So, he mentioned something about lunch?” I added, looking at her sideways to see if she would dish the dirt.

“Yes, I’ve been instructed to provide you the details of where Mr. Hamilton will be dining tomorrow, precisely at noon, if you should be so inclined,” she answered, her eyes dancing.

I breathed a sigh of relief. I would finally be able to talk to my George and ask him if I could be his Gracie again. I’d have to come clean about some things, a lot of things, but it was time. Feeling immensely relieved—and thrilled to have Holly and Nick at my side—I set off for a celebratory di

***

The next day, a few minutes before noon, I walked into the Four Seasons. After finding the concierge, I let him know I was a guest of Jack Hamilton, as I’d been instructed to do, and he immediately jumped up.

“Ah, yes. Ms. Sheridan? Yes, Mr. Hamilton is expecting you in one of our private dining rooms. Allow me?” he asked, taking my coat and gesturing toward a semi-hidden elevator. We went up a few floors, then he took me to an ornate door at the end of a darkly paneled hallway. As he prepared to open the door, I took a moment to smooth my skirt. I had nixed several outfits for a variety of reasons before settling finally on this one: a trim black skirt with a soft pink angora sweater. Fabulous tits (my strong point in this scenario) and black boots completed the look, and the nervous smile on my face hopefully didn’t show everything. I took a breath, and he opened the door.

Jack sat at a table for two, facing the door. He rose when I came in, and I was struck stupid once again at how beautiful he was. The face, the curls, the eyes were the same, but the smile was sad. I was the cause of that sadness, and shame gripped me once more.

Suck it up, lady. It’s time to sing for your supper.

As much as I wanted to run to him and throw my arms around him—and my legs for that matter—protocol and our last encounter precluded this. So I waited for him to make the first move. We both stood, staring, and finally the poor concierge broke the tension by asking us to let him know when we were ready for lunch. Jack nodded, and we were left alone.

“Hi.”

“Hi, yourself,” he said, and just hearing his voice brought tears to my eyes.

“Thank you for the flowers. They were beautiful.”

“You’re welcome.”

“And the Chex Mix—that was a nice touch,” I added.

He gri

We were silent for a few seconds, then we both spoke at the same time.

“The show was great—”

“Thank you for coming last night—”

We laughed, and the tension eased a bit. I stepped a little closer to him, and he moved toward me as well. I set my bag down and admired the room. Wood paneling, gilded mirrors—it was beautiful. When I turned back toward him, he was right behind me. Having him so close affected me as it always did, and before I could stop myself, I reached for him.

We fell into each other’s arms, instantly molding into what was once so familiar, and was now so desperately missed. My skin remembered his. His touch and his scent filled my head. Once again tears sprang to my eyes as I clutched him to me. I felt his lips graze the top of my head, and I melted. I absolutely melted. I lifted my face up, my lips seeking his.