Ch10

The afternoon had been almost perfect, similar to how things used to be, but Claire knew it would be short lived. Every once in a while she'd catch Miller staring off into the distance deep in thought, only he was too sweet to admit his mind was elsewhere. He'd tried so hard to make the day about her, never once mentioning work or the screenplay, or everything else he'd put on hold to hang out.

They drove to the northern tip of Santa Monica Bay and spent their time together wandering around Point Dume State Beach, waiting for the gray whales to make their appearance and watching the rock-climbers show off their athletic skills on the jagged cliffs above the crashing waves. They took off their shoes and strolled hand-in-hand along the shore, laughing and having fun observing the assortment of people enjoying their day at the park. Miller had been relaxed and easygoing, as if he didn't have a care in the world. Only she knew better.

Claire desperately wanted to tell him about the baby, but she knew the timing wasn't right. Only how much longer could she put it off? Soon, he would see she was showing, and then what? Once again she wondered if she was doing the right thing. She hated keeping the unexpected news from Miller, but she didn't want to overwhelm him any more than he already was. Claire didn't know what she would do if he wasn't happy they were expecting.

Just a little while longer, she promised herself. Then things will have calmed down and he won't be feeling so stressed. His work on the screenplay was almost finished and she could not wait much longer. No longer would her boyfriend spend his time concentrating on research and writing, he would be able to focus on her and their new addition.

Claire smiled to herself and brought a careful hand to her stomach. She could tell it was beginning to swell ever so slightly, not enough for anyone else to notice except for her, but she kept her microscopic bump carefully concealed under loose fitting shirts and baggy jackets just to be safe. Her breasts, on the other hand, were another story. They were round and tender-voluptuous in certain outfits-so unlike her normal slender physique. Claire had not been expecting to experience physical changes so soon, it took her by surprise! According to her calculations, she was approximately six weeks pregnant. That meant her baby was about the size of a sweet pea. From everything she had read online, he or she was already forming tiny arms and legs and even had eyes and a nose! If only she could share her excitement with Miller.

Soon . . .

Her first doctor's appointment would be in a couple of weeks and Claire was really looking forward to hearing what the obstetrician. They would then be able to determine the baby's official due date, and she could hardly wait to celebrate the future birthday. Everything would be changing soon, for her and for Miller. Once they welcomed the precious bundle of joy into their lives, nothing would ever be the same--in a good way. In the best way. She'd never put too much thought into becoming a mother before, but once she missed her period and took the test, all of that changed. Claire had always assumed she'd been put on earth to be an actress, to help bring an amazing story to life, but she knew better now. She had been put on earth to become someone's mother. A tiny little person created by her and Miller--someone she could love, nurture and guide.

A baby . . . Our baby! Claire hugged the secret to herself and smiled once more.

There was nothing she wanted more.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Earl Samson left his small, cramped Hollywood apartment just after six, hopped in his beat up Ford minivan and made his way toward the Beverly Hilton. There were some big names scheduled to attend the evening's fundraiser and he had plans to photograph each and every one. It'd been a long time since he'd captured a good shot-too long-and he needed a break in the worst kind of way. Thirty-eight years in the business and he was still waiting to hit the jackpot. He was a decent photographer, that much he knew, so when would it finally be his turn to catch the photograph all the magazines wanted? When would he be the one to find a celebrity in a compromising situation, or be the first one to spread around new gossip? What he would give to stumble upon some famous jerk cheating on an unsuspecting spouse, or maybe capture the last imagine taken before some filthy-rich superstar overdosed on an illegal substance. The tabloids paid good money for photos like that--the illustrious "money shot"! He'd finally be able to buy himself a new car before his old clunker broke down.

When he arrived at the venue there were already several members of the paparazzi walking about, waiting for the designer-dressed, jewelry-clad celebrities to arrive. He would always smile at the popular entertainment personalities, but they would never pay him the time of day-unless, of course, they were ready to have their picture taken, and then watch out! It was heaving cleavage, tucked eyes and duck lips galore.

This event proved to be no different. He waited patiently with his camera as Louis Tomlinson walked by, wowing fans gawking on the sidelines with his trademark smile while dozens of cameras flashed away in earnest. Kanye West with Kim Kardashian. Ian Somerhalder. Ariana Grande. The list of famous faces went on and on.

The same ol' pictures of the same ol' people. Boring!

He needed something fresh, something different, something no one would expect. He needed to think outside of the box.

And that's when he saw him. Decked out in a chest-exposing gray V-neck and tight, black skinny jeans, hypnotizing the crowd with his confident, flirtatious swagger, was the blond Adonis of the moment, Brooks Kennedy. Earl moved his slight fifty-nine-year-old frame closer to the pop-star in order to get a better shot and was rewarded with a quick pause and world-famous cocky smirk that made teenage girls cream their panties. Earl snapped away before the moment passed, his camera working feverishly. There was no doubt he'd captured Brooks' sex appeal, but that wasn't difficult to do, so had dozens of other photographers all vying for the same outcome-something they could sell to one of the celebrity rags.

He needed more.

The buzz around the entertainment industry was that Brooks had a reputation, and normally staggered out of the many drinking establishments with numerous women in tow-and he had a feeling these women were not with the pop-star to play patty-cake. How he would love to catch some of that action! If he were able to capture the singer in an unsavory position, one Brooks would never want shared with the rest of the world, he would be on top of his game! The other photographers would bow to him, making him their king, not to mention the crazy amount of cash he could make selling scandalous photos like that!

Earl knew what he needed to do. Hanging around the charity fundraiser would not get him anywhere, he needed to be where the action was. There was nothing like a famous after-party to get the juices flowing, only trouble was he'd have a sea of paparazzi to fight, all aiming for that elusive shot. He needed to be smarter. A whole lot smarter if he was going to catch something tabloid-worthy.

Earl pulled out his well-worn map-of-the-stars, scanning frantically for the information he needed.

Mulholland Drive, Beverly Hills.

That wasn't very far and would certainly be worth the late-night trip, especially if he caught Brooks Kennedy up to something naughty, and if the young singer never left a party alone it shouldn't be too difficult. Rumor had it just the other night Brooks had left a night club with three beauties and another dude in tow!

Lucky bastard.

Earl smiled at his surefire plan. It had to work, and he would be right there on the front line waiting to capture all the mayhem on film.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

With Claire safely tucked into bed, Miller donned a pair of dirty Levi's he normally wore working around the yard, a flannel button-up shirt and some old tennis shoes and made the hour long drive through Los Angeles and into an area most people avoided. He parked his SUV in it's usual hidden spot and began the lengthy walk toward MacArthur Park. He passed by The Purple Prophet and discreetly stuffed a ten dollar bill into the crazy man's hand, and continued on until he found the spot where Marie normally settled down for the night. Except he didn't find her there like he had in the past. He asked around but no one, not even the girls she called friends, had seen her.

Miller put on a baseball cap he'd tucked into the pocket of his flannel and began the five-mile hike to the corner of Hollywood Boulevard and Highland Avenue, another area he knew Marie liked to frequent. He kept his eyes on the sidewalk and moved quickly, aware of the countless dangers that lurked the crowded city streets, especially after dark. Baby-face prostitutes were out in full force, offering their services for rock-bottom prices, while junkies made dirty deals with hoodie-covered criminals, carefully concealing their identities. His pace slowed when he came upon the Wilshire/Vermont Subway Station, and he fought the urge to take the Red Line a little closer to his destination, thinking of all the time he would be able to save. As he contemplated the option, his eyes wandered around the busy intersection and fell upon a small figure slumped on a black iron bench. There was something about the dark curly hair sweeping over a half-hidden face that seemed familiar.

Miller took a few cautious steps forward and continued to study the sleeping female, realizing quickly it was Marie. Why in the world was she asleep on a sidewalk bench? That couldn't be safe. He walked over and sat down beside her, watching closely for a moment before waking her. Very gently, he reached over and nudged her shoulder. "Marie?" he whispered loudly.

With a start, Marie sat up straight, brown eyes darting around wildly. When they finally settled on Miller's face, a slow realization covered her features. "Mike?" she asked, as though she couldn't believe what she was seeing.

"Yeah, it's me," he answered lamely, embarrassed he hadn't seen her in so long. "What are you doing out here?"

Marie let out a long sigh and leaned back into the bench warily, pulling the hood of her navy jacket over her head. Her long hair framed her face and fell in sloppy curls over her shoulders. "I thought you were dead," she said impassively.

He'd been a no-show for a week; of course she thought something bad had happened to him. Miller swallowed the large lump that formed in his throat. He'd been feeling guilty he hadn't had the opportunity to meet up with her and her now stoic attitude told him his absence hadn't gone unnoticed.

"Hey, come on, " he said, pushing her shoulder playfully with his. "I wouldn't do that to you." He spoke lightly and forced a little laugh, attempting to lighten her mood.

"I was worried. Where were you?" she accused with an edgy tone. Marie turned and stared at him expectantly. Miller noticed she looked different somehow, no longer the sweet girl so full of life and wonder. It was her eyes; they were hollow, empty, as if the light that always shined brightly behind them had burned out. What had happened to her while he'd been away?

Drugs . . .

It had to be. Miller was savvy enough to recognize the look, this wasn't the first time he'd peered into the eyes of a user.

"I'm sorry, I--I've been sick," he lied. "I hung out in an abandoned building and slept it off. Are you okay?" he asked suddenly, changing the subject. "You seem a little off."

"No different than I've ever been," she replied flippantly, although her voice had softened some and he hoped his story about being sick had appeased her anger with him. He couldn't explain it, but he didn't want this girl mad at him. She'd had him under her spell since the moment they'd met several months back and his feelings for her grew deeper every day. Miller just wanted the best for Marie, he wanted to see her make it off the streets and move onto a happier life.

"So, you've been sick?" she asked meekly, an apparent attempt to smooth over her irritation. "Are you feeling better now?"

Miller regarded her carefully and noticed that her pupils were small, much smaller than they normally appeared. Her complexion was spotty and there were dark circles beneath her eyes, as though she hadn't slept well in days. "I do feel better now," he confided. "But more importantly, how are you?"

Marie turned away from him and shrugged her shoulders. "I've been alright."

"You don't seem alright."

"Well, I am," she said, staring again with scorn. "What do you care, anyway?"

There was definitely more going on than what little information she'd offered, Marie had never spoke to him that way before. She wasn't herself at all, and Miller intended to get to the bottom of it. "Of course I care. Why do you think I come around?"

She mumbled something incoherent underneath her breath and shrugged her shoulders again. They sat in silence for a moment before she continued. "Look, I'm sorry. I haven't been getting much sleep and I guess I'm just cranky, is all."

Miller gave her an understanding nod and pulled out the treats he had stuffed into his pocket. As always, he'd stopped on his way downtown and picked her up something to eat. "Are you hungry? I scored some snacks earlier." He offered her several protein bars and some to-go pouches of mixed nuts.

She shook her head, "Thanks, but not really."

"What do you mean 'not really'? When was the last time you ate?"

Marie scrunched her eyebrows in concentration. "I'm not sure," she finally admitted.

"You need to eat," Miller said, irritation creeping into his voice. He opened the package of a protein bar and stuffed it into her hand and the rest of the packaged snacks into the pocket of her hoodie. "It's not good to go hungry."

"But I'm not hungry," she whined, and pushed the bar away.

"Dammit, Marie! What the hell's going on? I come out here and find you slumped over on a sidewalk bench like some drunk, I offer you food and you say you're not hungry even though you can't remember when you last ate?" he exploded. "I want to know what you've been doing this past week--and don't feed me any bullshit."

"What's it to you?" she replied indignantly, although it was quite obvious she was taken aback by his sudden outburst. "You know, Mike, I don't get you. You show up one day out of the blue and start giving me stuff and worrying about what I've been up to. It doesn't make any sense." Marie shook her head slowly, as though she were trying to make sense of his motives. "And how is it that you always have food to give me? Or clothes, or shoes? Yet I never see you panhandling or scrounging for scraps. Why does everything seem to come so easy for you?"

Guilt washed over him once more, and for a split second Miller debated telling her the truth, but he quickly came to his senses. He couldn't be honest with her now, he knew he couldn't. She would push him away for sure. He'd been lying to her for half a year, there's no way Marie would ever trust him again once she found out the truth. So he did the only thing he could and settled on yet another lie. "Just lucky, I guess."

Marie was quiet for a moment before she let out a short huff. "That's some luck."

Screw it. Miller was done feeling guilty. He was taking Marie home with him. He had to. It was obvious she had taken a turn for the worse in his absence and he couldn't stand watching this new girl emerge. Marie wasn't the same as she used to be and he knew she'd gotten involved in something she shouldn't have. It was his job to keep her safe and he would just have to figure out a way to explain it all to Claire.

"Hey," he began, "Why don't you come stay with me?"

The teenager looked at him skeptically. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, why don't you come stay with me? Mi casa es su casa. I'll share my tricks of the trade with you," he lightly teased, hoping it would be enough to entice her. Instead, she shook her head.

"I don't think so."

"Why not?" he challenged. "What do you have to lose?"

For a moment something sparked in her eyes and he thought she might say yes, he could see her wheels spinning. But again, she declined. "I'm good."

Miller decided to tread lightly; he didn't want to scare her off.

"How about you think about it?" he asked as casually as he could. "I'll find you tomorrow and you can let me know then. In the meantime," he added, reaching into his pocket. "Take this."

Marie slowly took the crumpled twenty dollar bill from his hand and gave it a long, hard look, as though she were trying to determine if it were real. "Where did you get this?" she demanded.

Miller stood up from the bench and adjusted the baseball cap on his head. "Tomorrow," he promised. "We'll discuss it all tomorrow."

Will The Young Woman finally show us how crazy she really is? Find out in Chapter 11!

Thanks so much for reading Fast Lane! I appreciate you taking the time to read, vote and comment. If you liked this chapter, please remember to hit the little star on your device!

As many of you know, my story Strawberry Wine was chosen as the winner of The Write Affair writing contest and will be published in both print and eBook! I couldn't have done this without you, but I need your support now more than ever. Check out my website DarlyJamison.com, or look me up on Twitter or Facebook. Thank YOU for helping make this dream a reality! 

(Chapter 10 approx 3,000 words)