The Redhead Revealed

***

Holly had some open time in her schedule that afternoon (amazing!), so she was the one who got to fetch me from the airport. As I walked through baggage after collecting my stuff, I texted her to let her know I was ready. She texted back almost immediately.

Thank God you’re home.

No one has cooked for me in ages!

I’ll be there in 5.

Your favorite bitch

I smiled to myself and gathered my bags. I’d shipped most of my things back, so they’d be arriving within a day or so. I was so happy to get back to life in L.A. and finally make my house a home that I exited the airport with the biggest shit-eating grin on my face.

Outside in the California sunshine, I breathed deep: smog and oranges and excitement. Yummy. I felt the breeze and sunbeams on my face, and I was home. Holly waited at the curb, flipping off several people honking at her. I almost didn’t recognize her. She leaned against the hood of a brand new car, looking fierce. She was on the phone as I approached.

“No, dear, you’re not hearing me,” she said. “He ca

She finally spied me and gri

“Dillweed,” I answered, nodding. I dropped my bags, and we hugged it out.

“Fuck, I’m glad you’re home.” She giggled as we embraced.

“Me too.” I laughed, then jumped as we heard another round of honking start.

“Oh, settle down! We’re moving, we’re moving!” she yelled as we piled my bags into the back of her new wheels.

As I settled into the plush leather seat of her Mercedes, I sniffed. I loved new-car smell. “So what’s up, Hollywood?” I asked, ru

“Shut it. It was time to upgrade, and I totally deserve it,” she said, swerving out into traffic and heading for the freeway.

“Yes, you do. I’m amazed you lasted as long as you did, frankly. You’ve wanted one of these since college.” I dug out my phone and began texting the Brit to let him know I’d landed.

“Are you texting Jack?”

“Yep, I told him I would when I got in. Why?”

“He has some interviews this afternoon. He’s so glad to be almost done with this press tour. I got him on an early flight from Madrid, and he should be here sometime tomorrow afternoon.”

“That’s what I heard. I’m so glad we have these few days here together before he goes to London,” I said as I sent the text.

Sweet Nuts,

Just landed and headed HOME!

What the hell time is it where you are?

I don’t care—call me before you go to sleep.

Love you and miss your body more.

Dorothy Zbornak

“He’s leaving on the twenty-third, right?” she asked, weaving in and out of traffic with the reflexes of Danica Patrick. L.A. driving could prepare anyone for that circuit.

“Yep.” I sighed. I was glad he was going home for some time with his family. He needed it. When I saw him in recent interviews, my Brit just looked totally exhausted. But still pretty…oh, still pretty.

“But you have all this week with him. Any plans?” she asked, missing a Bentley by mere inches on the 405.

“Nope, just the Christmas di

Since most of our friends were staying in L.A. for the holidays, I’d volunteered my house as Holiday Central. We were having a di

We chatted and laughed and giggled and swore as we made our way through the Hills of Beverly and on up to my house. As we turned on to Laurel Canyon and the trees closed in around us, I was reminded why I loved this street so much. Growing up in the Midwest, it was easy to think of L.A. as a very cheesy, very plastic, very shiny place. And it was, in certain parts. There was definitely some cheese in this town. But I truly believe you see what you want to see. And if you looked past that, L.A. was beautiful. The pocket neighborhoods, the architectural mishmash, the palm-lined streets. And then there were the canyons: Coldwater, Topanga, Benedict, and finally Laurel. There was something mystical about Laurel Canyon: the way it wound around the mountain, the houses dug into the landscape, the ancient trees, the stillness at night.

And there was my bungalow. Cozy and warm. When we pulled in, I sighed contentedly.

“Happy?” Holly asked as she shut off the engine.

I heard birds chirping. I inhaled and smelled…lemons.

“Hell, yes,” I answered.

She helped me get everything inside, then paused when she saw the Post-it on my fridge next to the picture of Jack and me in Santa Barbara.

“You wrote yourself a welcome home note?” she asked, laughing.

“I sure did. I knew I’d be coming back,” I said, gazing at the picture of me and my Joh

“Okay, fruitcake. I gotta head back to the office. There’s a war going on about who’s go

“Adios, dillweed,” I shot back, and began to plan which bag to unpack first.

“Hey, Grace?” she said

I looked up at her. “Yeah?”

“Glad you’re back.”

“Me too, dear.”

I smiled, and she showed me her middle finger as she left.

I looked around, and my eyes settled once more on the Post-it.

“Welcome home, Grace,” I said out loud with a smile, and then I went to work.

Well, actually, first I just walked around my house for a while, overwhelmed by everything I had to do. But then I sprang into action. Thankfully, the housekeeping service I’d hired before I left had kept ahead of the dust, and the house was basically clean. But having never been lived in, it was missing some essential items. I put my clothes away and made a list. The list to end all lists.

After list-guided trips to Target, The Container Store, and Ralph’s, I spent the rest of the day and most of the evening putting stuff away and arranging. My things from storage were arriving the next day, and I was anxious to start hanging pictures and personalizing. But even now, my home was begi

At ten-thirty that night I stood in the shower with my eyes closed and my hands braced against the wall. I was beat. The strain and ache of the day had taken its toll, and my brain was still partially on East Coast time. I stood under the water, letting it beat down and wash away some of the knots in my neck. I mentally pla

As I settled under the covers, I heard my phone beep. A text!