His long fingers began to work the buttons on my shirt, and my pulse raced instantly.
“Did I tell you, by the way, how much I enjoyed that earlier?” he whispered, his tongue grazing the skin my opening shirt revealed.
I shivered and felt my skin tighten. “I had a feeling,” I said, pulling open the last few buttons on his jeans.
He knelt in front of me, finishing with the shirt and parting it before him. He left kisses on my skin as he moved down my body, stopping to look back up at me with a devilish grin. As soon as he was able, he was between my legs.
Yes.
He kissed up and down each thigh, making me shake each time he pressed his lips to my skin. “The thought that I’d never taste you again, Crazy? Almost more than I could stand,” he whispered, as he kissed my sex softly.
I moaned thickly and let my head drop back to the pillow.
“The thought that I’d never get to watch you come again? Impossible.” He groaned and swept me open with his magic fingers. His tongue found me instantly, perfectly, and my entire body tensed, then relaxed under his mouth.
There truly was no man better suited for me in the world. He was mine, I was his, and that was the truth.
I let myself go, let myself feel everything he was giving me. His hands, his lips, his fingers, his mouth, his tongue all flowed together into one insane moment, and as I felt my body contract, tighten, and then unleash, I was filled with the most sublime sense of awe. I was blessed.
When he marked me with his brand, my breath left me. I belonged to him completely. I would never belong to anyone else. He called me his Nuts Girl, and I knew this was the man I was put on this earth to love. And I finally knew I was strong enough to be his girl.
When he entered my body and filled me up, there were tears—my own and maybe even a few of his. But we smiled as we came together, in every sense of the word. I said, he said, we said, “I love you,” and it meant everything.
And when the lovin’ was through, and he was behind me, arms tucking me in and hands on boobies, I was content. Blissfully content.
We were silly, we were unique, we were thankfully not normal, and we were perfectly matched. George and Gracie were back.
***
Jack could only stay one more day. He was booked so solidly with interviews, it was amazing he’d managed to come out at all, but the man was determined. Thank God. He accompanied me to the theater that night and watched the show a second time, cheering loud and proud all over again. After the show, I futzed in my dressing room and had just finished scrubbing off my makeup when I saw him walking down the hall. I started to open the door wider for him when I saw Michael round the opposite corner. They almost collided, and when each realized who the other was, they both tensed. I considered going out to referee, but stepped back to listen instead.
“Hey,” Michael said, determined to be nonchalant.
“Hey,” Jack said, intentionally nonchalant as well.
Boys…
“It’s great you could be here. I know Grace is thrilled.”
“Of course I’m here. Where else would I be?” Jack responded, a pronounced edge to his voice.
“Hey, man, you should know. Grace and I? Friends. That’s it. I thought there was something there, but I was wrong.”
“Yep.”
“So, I guess I’ll see you around?”
“Yep,” Jack said, continuing down the hall toward where I was hiding behind the door. He stopped a few feet away and turned back around.
“Hey, O’Connell,” he called.
“Yeah?”
“It’s a good show, man. It’s good,” Jack conceded, smiling a little.
“Thanks. Grace makes it better,” Michael called back, smiling as he walked away.
“Grace makes it better,” I heard Jack repeat slightly snarkily under his breath. Then he walked into my dressing room with a genuine smile on his face.
“Hi,” he said, closing the door.
“Hi yourself,” I answered, primly tightening my robe around me. He studied me carefully, then took my hands and kissed them each in turn before kissing my lips once, twice, then a third time, sweetly and succinctly.
“Beautiful,” he whispered and pulled me into a bear hug. He lifted me off the floor, and I laughed at the tightness of his arms. He let me go finally, and his eyes were shining as he looked at me. “Are you gonna go all Broadway on me now, sweet girl?” he asked, chucking me under the chin.
“Not unless you go all Hollywood on me,” I answered, messing his hair.
***
We spent another quiet, but not so quiet, night at his hotel, and the next morning I rode with him to LaGuardia. I sat on his lap in the cab, holding him tightly. This time it was going to be even harder to let him go.
We’d spent the night catching quick cat naps between love and talk. I told him I’d like the chance to apologize to Marcia, and perhaps we could all get together for dinner the next time I was in L.A. Who knew when that was going to be, but I was hoping for Christmas.
We were never going to have the kind of relationship that allowed us to see each other every day, at least not for the foreseeable future. And Jack would probably never come home from work with a briefcase after a hard day. He’d probably never cut the lawn on the weekend. And while I do own several aprons and make a kickass meatloaf, I’d likely never be the “little woman,” marinating in a traditional house in the suburbs.
Neither of us really wanted that, but I did disclose a little fantasy I had about role playing: me in an apron and him with a briefcase. He agreed wholeheartedly, providing of course that I wear high heels like Donna Reed. And we both dissolved into laughter when I mentioned I’d also wear my pearl necklace. We watched as the Manhattan night gave way to a gray morning, then showered quickly and headed out.
We knew there were still things we had to talk about and work through, but we were both optimistic now. We were a team. And when we pulled up to the airport and I had to let him go again, although I was sick to my stomach, I felt a newfound strength of spirit. I kissed him fiercely in the cab, wrapping my arms around him and telling him I loved him over and over again. Our antics in the Four Seasons elevator the day before, while romantic and sweet, were not smart, and we’d agreed to go back to being as discreet as possible. We weren’t hiding, but we wouldn’t flaunt it either. It just made more sense to use discretion.
And besides, there was something wonderfully wicked about knowing he and I could have something private, just us. The entire world was clamoring to know about him, but we could have our personal life be just for us, for as long as we could keep it that way.
“Call me when you land in L.A.?” I asked, sweeping kisses across his face as he held me tight.
“Of course,” he answered, kissing me breathless.
“And you behave out there, hear me? No more benders?” I teased, but I did have a legitimate twinge of concern over his coping method of choice when left on his own.
“No more benders.” He smiled back.
“Thank you, George.” I sighed into his neck, feeling the tears begin.
“For what, Gracie?” He raised my chin to look at me.
“For not giving up on me,” I answered, and he smiled my favorite smile.
“That’s my schmaltzy girl,” he said, his eyes full of love.
A horn blaring shocked us out of our reverie, and we laughed as our cabbie swore in three languages at the other driver.
Jack kissed me once more, told me he loved me, and was gone. He disappeared into a sea of people inside the terminal, hoodie up and shades on.
I was sad, but not as sad as I thought I’d be. I knew now we could get through just about anything, including the sort of terror I alone could produce. I knew now what it felt like to be without him, and that would never happen again.
As the cab headed back into the city, my phone blipped. I had a text.
Thanks for leaving me with a little schmaltz.
Jesus, George.
Chapter 18
After Jack left New York, our relationship changed—for the better. We were more open and honest with each other. I held back nothing. I told him my thoughts and fears, and bolstered by my admissions, he shared with me as well. We talked every night, long past my bedtime, and while I did not think it possible, we fell more in love.
He’d been all over the place and hardly in L.A. since he came to see me, and he was still busy with additional Time obligations. Box office sales from the first two weeks alone had ensured that the film was now a franchise, and the studio had already green-lighted the second installment. The script was being written, and they’d told him shooting could start as early as February. He’d also been in negotiations for several other studio films, all of which Holly was overseeing like a hawk. They were both exhausted, but very happy with the way his career was shaping up.
Over time, the fallout from the pictures of him with the blonde died down, and shockingly, there was no fallout from our elevator groping at the Four Seasons. Whether those ladies had just not gotten the money shot, or they decided out of the kindness of their quilted hearts to keep the pictures for their own private collections, they never made the papers. Or TMZ. Or Access Hollywood, or anywhere.
I stretched out leisurely in my seat, removed my ear buds, and put them back in my bag. It was December seventeenth, and I was almost home. It was time to return all belongings and make sure my tray table was in its upright and locked position. I looked out the window at the familiar landscape and thought about the last time I’d been on a plane bound for California. What a disaster.
I finished the last of the warm chocolate chip cookies so thoughtfully provided to first-class passengers and sipped the last of my complimentary wine. Why I always felt the need to indulge in free alcohol I’ll never know, but I was pleasantly sauced. And happy.
As I gazed out at the unmistakable terrain of California, the plane banked left, and I saw the ocean for the first time. I thought about the last month, and what had now led me back to L.A.
The show? Well, it went…well.
When the reviews came out, I was thrilled to see it had been well received. They thought I killed it too! We still didn’t know if the show would be picked up or not, but this was encouraging. For all three weeks, we sold out every night, and the show was beginning to generate quite a bit of buzz. The Village Voice even wrote a little piece, which highlighted Michael as a talented writer and yours truly as a new voice in the world of musical theater. We were flying high.
So when we got word that the show wouldn’t be picked up for a full production—at least not right away—we were all a little surprised. Although, as Michael explained patiently during a teary cast meeting, sometimes even the best shows never see the light of day outside a workshop. But it was a tough pill to swallow. We’d worked so hard, and I’d put everything I had—and some things I didn’t know I had—into making Mabel real.
Nevertheless, the cast bid each other tear-soaked goodbyes, and Michael and I parted ways in a much better place than when we’d parted years ago. He had another project lined up, and he was headed to Connecticut to spend the holidays with his family, including Keili’s new baby. We promised to keep each other in the loop, and he said he’d let me know if he heard anything. I knew this time we’d keep in touch.
Which led me to here and now, back on a plane to L.A. I had some freelance writing projects I could pick back up, and Holly was already beginning to line up auditions for me in the new year. The life of the actor—always so close and yet so far away.
Ah, well. Actually, part of me was quite pleased to be heading back to L.A. My New York adventure had been grand and exciting, but I missed my home, I missed my friends, and I missed my Brit. He’d soon be back in L.A. as well after another quick UK press tour for Time (evidently London missed their Brit too). I couldn’t wait to be alone with him, in my home, in our bed.
I knew it would be hard to find another role as perfect as Mabel had been, but I’d adapt. And although it was little scary not knowing what would happen next, after so many years of knowing exactly what the next day would bring, I kind of liked not knowing. Plus, since I’d killed it with Mabel, I felt pretty sure I could do just about anything.
The plane began its final descent, and as I yawned to keep my ears clear, I indulged in a little daydreaming about my George.
Since I’d opened the floodgates, we’d talked a lot over the past weeks about some of my, and therefore some of our, issues. I actually finally had the nerve to bring up having kids again on the phone late one night. Being the emotionally mature one, turns out he’d been waiting for me.
“I wondered how long it would take you to bring this up again, Crazy. Come on, out with it.” I could hear him grinning through the phone.
“Christ on a crutch, you know me well.” I laughed, feeling my face burn a little at the knowledge that he was always—and would apparently always be—one step ahead of me.
“I know you better than anybody, but I can’t read your mind,” he said. “So tell me what you’re thinking. What you’re really thinking, Grace.”
“Hmm, well, the thing is, it’s not that I suddenly want kids or anything—I’m still pretty convinced that I don’t…” I trailed off, trying to consolidate my own thoughts before throwing them out all over him.
“But,” he prompted.
“Don’t but me, mister. I guess I’ve just realized that while I’m still pretty sure I don’t want kids, my chances of having them are also getting considerably smaller.”
“Right, well, being forty-eight doesn’t help matters,” he said, the smile evident in his voice.